Voodoo
by supernaturalsam
Summary: COMPLETE! The Winchesters head down to New Orleans and learn you should never piss off a dead Voodoo queen. UPDATED JUNE 9, 2007!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Well, here it is...my second fic. This isn't as angst filled as my last fic, but I'm sure I can get one or two moments in here! I really hope you enjoy this one and let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: Nothing has changed, meaning I still own nothing.**

**Big thanks to Bayre, my awesome beta!**

It was another balmy, sticky night in New Orleans, Louisiana. The crickets were serenading the night with the soft melodic sounds of their chirping. The bright lights were enveloping the mysterious city in its effervescent glow as the night welcomed the restless citizens and tourists with its promise of a good time in the form of bars, strip joints, night clubs, and casinos.

But the lights could do nothing to make the St. Louis Cemetery #1 seem more inviting. If anything, the bright lights made the historic cemetery even more chilling and macabre. Located at the corners of St. Louis and Basin Streets in the French Quarter, the two hundred year old cemetery housed roughly over 700 tombs. As of late, a security guard had been assigned to patrol the sprawling grounds because of a rash of vandalism and grave desecrations. The city aptly placed the blame on teens and college students looking for a cheap thrill, but the old citizens of New Orleans knew they weren't entirely to blame. There were mystical forces at work in this fair city and had been for over two hundred years.

The guard never noticed as the two young women snuck onto the sacred grounds, each carrying a flashlight and duffel bag. Carlie Smith was a twenty year old student from the University of Tulane and a tall, slender blonde with brown eyes. She was accompanied by her best friend and fellow student, Maggie Lewis, a striking brunette with long legs and deep green eyes. They were quickly making their way through the maze of tombs all the while keeping wary of the things that went bump in the night.

"Mags, are you sure about this?" Carlie asked for what she was sure was the tenth time that night.

"Carlie, nothing is going to happen," Maggie said. "I'm not even sure if this is going to work or not, so stop worrying."

"Then why are we even out here?"

"I told you I needed to do this. I never said you had to come along with me."

Carlie rolled her eyes even though she knew her friend couldn't see it. "Oh, yeah, like I was going to let you come out here by yourself. It's bad enough to come out here alone during the day, but at night? You might as well sign your death warrant now."

"It's not like I couldn't have done it by myself."

"Yeah, I know, Maggie, but I'm here, okay? Let's just get this over with."

Maggie smiled and continued to lead the way. Carlie couldn't help but wonder how she let her friend continuously talk her into things like this. Ever since they were kids, Maggie was always the risk-taker of the two getting them into more trouble than Carlie could even keep up with. But they were friends to the end, no matter what, and sometimes, that meant doing things Carlie didn't want to do because she knew Maggie would do the same for her. Carlie still didn't understand how Maggie thought this was going to help her get over Brad, but then again Carlie wasn't going to argue. It had been hell trying to get Maggie out of their apartment for the last week so the brunette was going to look at this as a step forward for her friend.

Carlie remembered when Maggie told her about her lame-brained idea a couple of days ago. She'd been a mess since Brad, her boyfriend of three years, abruptly decided to call it quits. Maggie called her crying that night and the next day, Carlie was helping her move her things into her little apartment. Night and day she watched as her friend cried, refusing to accept phone calls, go to work, or even leave her room. But all of a sudden there had been a change in Maggie, a change that sent a chill down Carlie's spine. She seemed almost too happy, telling Carlie she knew how she could get over Brad, and maybe even get a little revenge on him for breaking her heart.

Everyone knew the legend of Marie Laveau, the reputed Voodoo Queen of New Orleans of the nineteenth century. It was said if you went to her grave in the St. Louis Cemetery and left a gift offering, her spirit would grant you a wish. Many people held this legend to be true and that was why the cemetery was such a big tourist hotspot. People came in droves from all over the world in order to have the magical spirit help them with their problems. There had been many claims from people that Marie had granted their wishes. Carlie wasn't so sure what to make of this, but Maggie seemed to believe it.

So, here Carlie was, following Maggie on what she was sure to be a complete waste of time.

"How much further is it, Maggie?"

Maggie shined her flashlight on her small map she was holding and nodded her head. "It's right up here, Carlie. Just chill."

"Yeah, that's easy for you to say."

Maggie ignored her and finally came to a stop in front of a tall, white marble tomb surrounded by flowers and various offerings. Carlie shined her light around the tomb seeing the offerings consisted of alcoholic drinks, cigarettes, and other little trinkets.

"You've got to be kidding me," Carlie muttered under her breath.

"What?" Maggie set down her bag and turned to look at her friend.

"I can't believe people buy into this crap. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid, Carlie, it really works. Sara told me so."

"And what did Sara wish for?"

"To fall in love."

Carlie scoffed. "She does that every week, Mags. That's not proof this wishing crap really works."

"I don't need proof, Carlie. I just need to try it, okay? Anything is better than me staying in my room, crying myself to sleep every night."

Carlie reached out a hand and gave Maggie's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I know Brad hurt you, Maggie…"

Maggie shook her head. "He did more than that, he nearly killed me. I mean, I felt like I couldn't breathe…I wanted to die, Carlie."

"Maggie, I'm sorry…"

"I can't feel like that anymore, Carlie. So, please, just help me with this. Have enough faith this will work. I need it to work."

Carlie sighed. She knew Maggie was tired of hurting and she wanted so much to take away her friend's pain. She just didn't see where making a wish to a dead woman was going to help her. She knew from her psychology class, people dealt with grief in different ways, but this was a little ridiculous. _Oh, well…suck it up and deal with it, Carlie._

Carlie put down her bag and glanced over at her friend. "Okay, so what do we do?"

Maggie was already digging in her bag and pulling out things. "We need to leave our offerings for her first."

Carlie knelt down on the ground and unzipped her bag. She had no idea what she would find in it since Maggie had packed it and already had it in her car when Carlie got home from work. She pulled out a couple of bouquets of flowers and a Ziploc bag filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies. Carlie eyed them dubiously, but propped them against the tomb anyway.

"So, why did you make her cookies?"

Maggie shrugged as she placed even more flowers around the tomb. "I don't know. I wasn't sure what to bring so I guessed."

Carlie chuckled. "Well, I'm sure the security guard and critters around here will appreciate it."

"Come on, Carlie, stop joking around."

"I can't help it, Maggie. This whole thing is crazy."

"Maybe it is, but like I said, you don't have to stay here. Just wait for me at the car and I'll meet you in a few minutes."

"Are you kidding? I'm not going back to the car by myself! You know the crazies that hide out around here."

"Then shut up and stand over there." She pointed to another grave about four yards away. "I don't need your bad mojo messing this up."

"Whatever." Carlie walked over to the grave and sat down, leaning her back against it. Okay, yes, she was being a total bitch about this, but it was stupid. There was a bunch of other ways Maggie could get over Brad. She had the looks and God knew guys were lining the block for a chance with her. Besides that, Carlie had been looking forward to going out to Renegade, the new nightclub that was having its grand opening tonight.

She watched as Maggie reached into her duffle and pulled out a piece of chalk.

"What are you doing with that?" Carlie asked.

"Why do you want to know? So you can make fun of me some more?"

"Come on, Mags…"

"All right, fine." She turned towards the tomb and began to draw three X's on the surface. "The legend says in order for Marie to grant your wish, you have to leave gifts and then draw three X's on her tomb. After that, you tap your foot on the ground three times and then knock three times."

"Someone likes the number three. But why do you knock? It's not like anyone is going to answer."

"Because supposedly when you knock, it wakes the dead."

"Oh, dear God…" _We have now officially entered the Twilight Zone._

Maggie shot her a look and Carlie immediately looked away guiltily. She watched silently as Maggie completed the ritual, making her wish at the end. After a couple of minutes of nothing happening, Maggie's shoulders slumped and she shrugged, looking at Carlie. "I guess you were right, after all. It was a complete waste of time."

Carlie was about to respond when a sudden cool gust of wind ripped through the night air. Her eyes widened when she saw an ethereal form appear behind Maggie—it was a woman in a long, black dress with black flowing hair. Even from where she was standing, Carlie couldn't help the chill going down her spine when she saw how closely Maggie and the woman resembled each other.

"Mags…" Carlie's voice shook with fear.

"What is it?" Carlie didn't answer. "Carlie?"

Carlie pointed and Maggie turned around slowly. "It worked," she said breathlessly.

The woman smiled. "I believe you summoned me, my child."

"Are you—"

"Marie Laveau?" The woman nodded. "That I am." She looked past Maggie to focus her attention on Carlie, who was just finding her way off the ground.

"No frickin' way…"

Marie cocked her head to the side. "You're not a believer, child." It wasn't a question.

Carlie slowly shook her head.

"Maybe you'll believe now."

Carlie watched in fear as Marie walked towards her friend and into her body. "Maggie!"

Maggie started to go into convulsions as the spirit became one with her. Then she straightened up and looked at Carlie with a chilling smile on her face. "Do you believe now?"

"What did you do to her?" Carlie started to back away.

"I'm only helping her with her wish, my child." Maggie took a step towards her. "We can't have anyone getting in our way, especially non-believers. If anything, I despise your kind the most."

"Oh, God." Carlie immediately knew what Maggie was implying. No way was she about to stick around and let this woman kill her. She turned and started to run.

"I'm afraid he's not going to be much help to you." She waved her hand and Carlie fell to the ground, hard. Maggie slowly walked towards her as Carlie started to crawl away. She barely got two feet away when she fell once again, so she turned on her back to see if she could convince her friend not to do this.

"Please, Maggie…you don't have to do this." Hot tears were streaming down her face.

"Maggie doesn't have any say in this one." Maggie knelt down next to Carlie and placed her hand on her chest. "Don't worry, child. I'll make it quick for you."

She closed her eyes and all of a sudden Carlie felt as if someone grabbed her heart and was squeezing it for all it was worth. She tried to get away from the voodoo queen, but there was no fighting it. The pain got more intense and then she felt nothing.

Maggie smiled in wicked delight as blood dripped from the young woman's mouth and her vacant eyes stared up at the starry sky. She stood up slowly and breathed in the warm air that was now tinged with the coppery scent of blood.

"That's better." She nodded. "Now, let's go take care of that boy of yours."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Brad Pershing sighed as he walked in his spacious apartment. He lived in a high rise complex right outside of the French Quarter, a graduation gift from his parents after he'd been accepted to medical school. Glancing at the wall clock in the living room, he saw it was just after midnight. The long nights at Tulane Medical Center where he'd begun his internship a couple months ago, were starting to wear thin, but in the long haul he knew it would be worth it. It had been his dream for as long as he could remember to be a pediatric surgeon and he was getting on his way. He still had a few years to go before he could become a full-fledged doctor, so in the meantime, he was stuck being everyone's peon and working ridiculous hours.

Dropping his keys onto the bar, Brad walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He popped the top and took a generous swig, allowing the cool, amber liquid to quench his thirst. He walked over to the answering machine, the tiny red light was blinking; he had messages. Hitting PLAY, he listened to them as he nursed his beer: the first two were from overzealous telemarketers, trying to sell him the latest in real estate—he aptly deleted those; the third one was from his mom, telling him they were having a family get-together this weekend and they would love it if he could come; the last was from Mitch, his best friend since grade school. Even though it was late, Brad picked up the phone and dialed Mitch's number, knowing his friend would pick up.

Mitch didn't disappoint as he answered on the second ring. "Yo, Brad! You coming out or what?"

Brad sank down onto his oversized sofa and took another swig of his beer. "Dude, I just got away from the hospital and I'm wiped out."

"You say that every time I call you."

"Yeah, that's because it's the truth."

"Don't act like I don't know why you're working these late hours—it's because of Maggie."

Brad sighed. "It has nothing to do with her." He knew he was lying as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

"Don't give me that shit, man. You never were any good at lying. And remember, you're the one that broke it off with her."

"You don't have to remind me of that, Mitch."

Mitch scoffed. "Come on, Brad, it's been a week. You've grieved for her long enough. It's time for you to get back out on the market."

"I don't think so." Brad took another sip of the beer and closed his eyes. He couldn't go out as his friend was suggesting, it was just too soon. While he'd been the one to break it off with Maggie, he really wasn't ready to get back to dating again, he felt as if he owed that to her. After all, you didn't dedicate three years of your life to someone just to turn around and get into bed with the first girl you met in the club. It had been hard for him to call it quits with her, but he felt as if they were going down two completely different paths: he wanted to focus on his studies and career while she was still unsure of what she wanted to do with her life, instead focusing on partying every night.

"I'm just asking for one night, bro," Mitch was saying. "Take your mind off of everything. You at least owe that to yourself."

Brad sighed—Mitch just wasn't going to let up until he finally consented. "I have a couple of days off next week, so we'll go out then, okay?"

"Whatever, man," Mitch grumbled.

_Great,_ _I've managed to piss off someone else. Going two for two there, Pershing. _Brad was about to say something else to his friend when a knock sounded at the door. "What the hell?"

"What is it?"

"Someone's knocking on the door." Brad got up from the sofa and walked to the door.

Mitch laughed. "So, that's why you didn't want to come out tonight. Look, dude, if you were going to get some ass, all you had to do was say something."

"Shut up." Brad opened the door and nearly dropped the phone. He scrambled to maintain his grip before it hit the ground.

"Dude, what the hell? What's going on?"

"Mitch, I'm gonna have to call you back."

"What's going—"

Brad hung up before Mitch could finish.

"So…are you going to invite me in or what?"

Brad quickly stepped back and allowed Maggie to come in. "What are you doing here? I figured I would be the last person you would want to see."

Maggie turned around and smiled. "Maybe I was tired of sitting around pitying myself. Maybe I thought I could get you to change your mind about us."

Brad shook his head. "I don't know, Mags…"

"Come on, Brad," she purred, putting her hands on his chest. "You have to admit what we had was special."

Brad swallowed hard. "It was."

"Then why don't we give it another chance? You know how much I love you, Brad."

"I love you, too, Maggie. I always will."

Maggie gently cupped his face in her hands. "Come on, let's give it another chance." She kissed him softly. "What do you say?"

Brad felt himself giving in to her temptation as he returned the kiss, deeper and more passionate. Finally, he tore himself away before he got in too deep. He couldn't go there again, he just couldn't. "Maggie, I can't."

Maggie sighed and stepped back, her head lowered. When she looked back up at him, her green eyes seemed to take on a whitish tint. "I was giving you a chance, Brad."

Brad backed away from her. "Maggie, what's wrong with you?"

Maggie smiled, but there was no pleasantness to it. "There's nothing wrong with me, Brad. In fact, I've never been better." She grabbed his face once again, but harder this time and whispered into his ear. "You really should have taken my offer."

Brad felt a chill go down his spine and she brought her hands up and lightly covered his eyes. He stepped back from her quickly, but found that he could no longer see. "What the hell did you do to me?"

"You took away my heart, Brad. It's only fair I take away something from you."

Brad continued backing away, stumbling against the furniture as he tried to maintain his balance. He knew his eyes were open because he could feel himself blinking; it was as if someone had poured black ink into his open eyes. No matter how much he rubbed at them, his vision wouldn't return. _I'm going to die, there's no other way around it. Maggie's going to kill me._

"You're never going to hurt another girl again, Brad."

All of a sudden he felt a strong gust of wind behind him as the large picture window burst open. He felt a moment of sheer panic seize him as he was propelled backwards, out the window, falling fifteen stories towards the ground.

It was only then he felt nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Big thanks to Heather for reviewing my first chapter. I am so happy you are checking out my new fic and your words meant a lot to me!**

**Good news...now we're on to Sam and Dean!**

**Let me know what you think!**

**Enjoy!**

_One week later…_

"Dean, do you have to have the music up _that_ loud?" Sam Winchester shouted to be heard above ZZ Top's _Gimme All Your Lovin'_. He knew Dean loved his classic rock and Sam usually gave him free reign of it, but it was starting to get a little ridiculous, especially when his brother was singing right along, giving the veteran rockers a run for their money.

Dean glanced over at his younger brother and smiled, but didn't turn down the music. Instead, he kept tapping his hands on the steering wheel, keeping in time to the beat and belting out the lyrics.

Sam glanced at him and reached to turn down the volume, but his hand was swatted away before he could make contact. Dean shook his head in disapproval and Sam huffed. Smiling as a thought hit him, Sam pulled out his cell phone and thumbed through the menu until he got to where he wanted. Making sure the volume was up as loud as it could go, he hit a button and all of a sudden Justin Timberlake's _Cry Me a River _was in competition with ZZ Top for music supremacy.

Dean reached forward, irritated, and turned down the radio. "Dude, what the hell is that crap?"

Sam smiled innocently as Justin broke into the chorus. "What? It's a good song." Seeing his brother's face turn slightly red, Sam turned the song off.

Dean shook his head as he kept his focus on the road. "You are such a bitch sometimes, you know that?"

Sam laughed taking pleasure in tormenting his brother, even if it was for just a minute. Dean was just starting to get back to himself after finally being able to relieve himself of the burden John put on his shoulders by telling him he may have to kill his own brother. Sam still didn't know quite what to make of that, but he knew what it did to Dean, what it made his brother feel. From what he'd learned, Sam knew he could potentially become dangerous and actually give in to the demon's plans, even though he was fighting it for all he was worth, for Dean. But he also knew he couldn't—_wouldn't_—live like that. He'd made Dean promise to kill him if it ever came down to that, albeit Sam was drunk when he'd forced his brother into it.

He knew that promise still hung over Dean's head, still bothered him. Hell, it hung over Sam's head as well because he wasn't sure if Dean would actually go through with it if it ever really came down to it. Sam didn't like adding his own burden to Dean, but it had to be done, he had to know his brother would be there for him when he needed him the most. Recently, Dean had gotten better, even going so far as to banter with him the way he used to before John died and Sam had to admit, it was good to see Dean like this. He was determined not to let Dean go down that self-destruction path again, it just took too much out of the young hunter to dance around his brother.

"How much further to New Orleans?" Dean asked, breaking into the young psychic's thoughts.

Sam picked up the atlas from the floorboard and flipping to the map he'd marked, skimmed it over. "About another hour, I think."

Dean smiled. "I'm telling you, Sammy, you're going to love New Orleans."

"Dean, I've been there before."

"Yeah, when you were a kid and Dad made you stay in the motel room the entire time."

"I was ten, Dean. He wasn't about to let me go with you two, especially when you were hunting down a werewolf."

"That was awesome," Dean said, gleefully. "God, it would be great if we could hunt another one."

Sam glanced at his brother and rolled his eyes. "God, you are such a dork."

"Dude, did you just call me a whale's penis?"

"Oh, you actually know what one is?"

"Did you forget to take your Midol today, Samantha?"

Sam sighed and looked at the printouts he'd made in Dallas when they'd gotten word of a possible new hunt in New Orleans. Dean practically pissed himself when Sam mentioned New Orleans and had barely gotten in the car before Dean sped off down the road.

Dean glanced over at Sam and saw what he was doing. "So, you never got to tell me why we're headed down to New Orleans."

"That's because you didn't give me a chance to tell you."

"I'm giving you one now."

_God, give me the strength._ "For the last week a series of bizarre murders have been occurring in New Orleans."

"Bizarre how?"

"Crazy bizarre." Sam leafed through the printouts until he came to one filled with notes in his handwriting. "The first one happened last Tuesday—Carlie Smith, a twenty year old student was found dead in the St. Louis Cemetery."

"How did she die?"

"The coroner's report says her heart burst."

"Burst? How the hell does that happen?"

"I'm not sure. The coroner isn't either, so he's blamed it on a heart attack."

"A heart attack doesn't do that, does it?"

"No."

"Well, on the bright side, I guess if you're going to die, a cemetery would be the place to do it."

"Dean…" Sam was amazed how his brother could be so insensitive at times.

Dean ignored Sam's annoyed tone. "Does it say where in the cemetery she was found?"

"Uh…" Sam flipped through the pages once again. "A few yards from Marie Laveau's tomb."

"Marie Laveau?" Dean glanced sharply at his brother, forgetting for a second he was driving on a busy interstate.

"Dean!" Sam yelled at the same time an eighteen wheeler beside them honked loudly, the driver screaming angrily, though he couldn't be heard by the brothers.

Dean instantly corrected himself, barely avoiding a catastrophe with the huge truck. "Sorry," he offered to Sam sheepishly.

Sam took a deep breath, silently thanking whoever was keeping watch over them at that moment. He glanced over at Dean as his heart resumed a semi-steady beat, seeing that the older hunter was grinning.

"I'm so glad you thought that was funny," Sam bit off.

"I had it under control, Sammy. Get your panties out of a twist."

"Learn to drive."

"Learn to shut up."

Sam closed his eyes, trying to remind himself that fratricide would surely land him in jail for the rest of his natural born life. "Why did you act like that when I said Marie Laveau?"

"You don't know who that is?" Dean seemed surprised.

"I've heard her name a time or two. She practiced Voodoo down in New Orleans."

"Dude, she was the Voodoo _queen_ of New Orleans."

Sam shrugged.

"Seriously?"

Again, Sam shrugged.

"I thought you were supposed to know everything." Dean sighed. "There's apparently a legend that says if you go to her tomb and perform some kind of ritual, she'll grant you a wish."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "How is it you know about this?"

"I heard about it the last time I was there," Dean said, quickly, but Sam noticed he turned slightly red, as if embarrassed.

_Oh, this is going to be so easy._ Sam chuckled. "You tried it."

"Yeah, Sam, I tried it, okay?"

Sam's chuckle erupted into a full-blown laugh. "Dude, I can't believe you bought in to that crap."

Dean took his eyes off the road for a split second to glare at his brother. "In my defense, I was drunk."

"Sure you were."

"Sammy, I swear to God…" Dean's voice was a warning.

But Sam trudged ahead. "What did you wish for?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Come on, Dean, tell me."

"I wished for a brother who wasn't so damned nosy," Dean said, a pointed glare directed at Sam.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Nope."

Sam smirked as silence filled the car. He didn't know what Dean was so ashamed of. So what if he bought into the legend and made a stupid wish? There was nothing wrong with it, people did it all the time.

"What did you wish for?"

"You're not going to drop this, are you?"

Sam shook his head which seemed to irritate Dean even more.

"I wished for sex with a hot chick, okay? That's it—no life altering wish, so drop it."

"All right, fine." Sam sat back in his seat and stared out the passenger side window. He knew that wasn't the real wish Dean made and he also knew there was no way he was going to force his brother to tell him what it was. It was hard enough to get Dean to open up to him as it was, but if he was forced to talk, Dean began to feel like a caged animal and retreated further and further into himself.

So, Sam would wait and when Dean wanted to talk to him, he would.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean couldn't understand why Sam always had to make such a big deal out of everything. He just couldn't leave things well enough alone and he had to keep pushing until Dean either exploded or completely shut him out.

Before now, Dean never really thought back to that night in the St. Louis Cemetery almost a year and a half ago. He never really cared to. He wasn't one to dwell on the past, and he wasn't about to start now. What was the point? That was Sammy's thing. The kid had a memory like a steel trap and it always scared the older hunter to an extent because Sam liked to dwell on so much, let the guilt eat up at him until there was nothing left but a shell. Dean couldn't do that, he had enough to deal with, especially in his one-man crusade to keep his brother safe and not letting the demon's nefarious plans come to be.

But now he couldn't stop the memory from coming back full force as he drove closer to New Orleans.

_Dean sat in the Impala, staring ahead at the darkened cemetery through the light rain that had begun to fall. He didn't know what he was doing here; it wasn't like he bought into the legend of Marie Laveau. But as he sat there, nursing a beer, he began to think maybe a tiny part of him did believe it, wanted to believe it. Maybe the locals had been right, maybe the spirit really could grant wishes._

_The hunter had just finished his latest hunt, his first true solo hunt actually, and to say he was bone tired would be an understatement. He'd been surprised when his father told him to take this one on his own, that he had something else to take care of. Dean couldn't remember a time when he'd been able to truly hunt alone, without some kind of back-up. It had been that way since Sam left for Stanford, father and oldest son sticking close together, for fear of losing each other._

_John had given him an easy enough hunt—stopping a Voodoo practitioner who was using his power to influence some very important people in the city. Someone should have told the practitioner it was going to be an easy hunt—the bastard fought Dean for all he was worth and the young hunter was sure he was going to have some pretty nice bruises for his effort. So, here he was, hours later, sitting in the rain and gathering his thoughts._

_Did he really want to go through with this? Did he really believe it would work? A tiny part of him wanted to believe, but the rational part was letting him know he was losing him mind if he honestly thought it would. After all, there was no proof it would work, just talk that it did. People who came to the Voodoo queen's tomb swore it worked and at that point, it was enough for Dean._

_He'd been thinking about it for a while now, it had been weighing down heavily on his mind. His life had been feeling empty lately and he was finally figuring out why, what was missing._

_Pushing open his door, he grabbed a brown paper sack in the seat next to him and stepped out into the rain. Closing the door, he pulled his beat up leather jacket tighter around him and began his trek through the cemetery. While most people would have freaked out about traipsing through the sacred grounds in the middle of the night, Dean Winchester found solace in it. Considering he spent a lot of his time in them and around death and misery, a cemetery for him meant a place of rest, of not having to worry anymore and being able to find peace._

_He found the old tomb with relative ease. It stuck out like a beacon, even through the rain that seemed to be coming down harder. He shook his head in disbelief when he saw all the trinkets surrounding the tomb, and then chuckled wryly when he realized he was only going to add to the spectacle._

_Taking a deep breath, he opened the paper sack and pulled out a fifth of Crown Royal. He didn't know what Marie Laveau's taste in hard liquor was in the afterlife, but he figured any alcohol would be acceptable. Moving a few things over, Dean set the bottle down and stepped back. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a piece of chalk and drew three X's on the tomb. He darted his eyes around the cemetery and after making sure no one was all of a sudden walking up on him, proceeded to stomp his foot three times_—Oh, yeah, this wasn't weird—_and knocked on the tomb_—and now it's completely crazy.

_Dean took another deep breath as the rain washed down over him. He knew what he wanted, there was no denying that. It was something he'd wanted so desperately for the last two years, something he was afraid he could never have again. But he had to try this, had to make sure he'd used up all of his options before he resorted to force and gave up entirely._

_The young hunter cleared his throat as lightning flashed across the sky. "So, um, listen…I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do this and I'm not actually sure if I believe in all this crap. I feel like a big enough ass as it is, but I had to try it, had to know if it could work."_

_He kicked the ground and continued on. "It's just Sam, my brother, you know. We haven't really talked to each other in a couple years and…it's just…I miss the kid. I know he would never willingly come back, not after what Dad said to him and I can't really blame him. He deserves his shot at a normal life, away from all this darkness and despair. I just want to see him again…I _need _to see him again._

"_So, that's my wish. I wish Sammy was back in my life."_

_Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, followed closely by the low rumble of thunder. Dean wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a sign from the Great Beyond or what. He didn't know what he expected to happen, expected to see after he'd made the wish. Maybe a bright flash of lights and a big blue genie saying, "Your wish is my command!" He chuckled as he thought about _Aladdin_, the Disney movie Sam liked to watch when they were kids. _I am definitely beginning to lose my mind…

_Heaving out a huge sigh, Dean convinced himself that it didn't work. Not that he was holding out much hope, but here was always the off-chance he could be wrong. Soaked through and exhausted, Dean made his way back to the Impala. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the backseat as he slid in behind the wheel._

_He heard his cell phone beep beside him and picked it up. Flipping it open, he saw he had a voicemail waiting for him. He instantly recognized the number as his father's and he cursed himself for leaving it in the car. John had been out of touch for the past couple of days, working a gig in Jericho, California and Dean had called him when his hunt had been completed, to let John know all went well. Dialing the voicemail, Dean held the phone to his ear and John's gravelly voice greeted him: "Dean, something is starting to happen, I think it's serious. I need to try to figure out what's going on…Be very careful, Dean, we're all in danger."_

_Dread instantly filled Dean's heart as he listened to the message again. _This was not good…not good at all._ Dean quickly dialed John's number, but only succeeded in getting his voicemail. "Son of a bitch!" He kept dialing the number, but always met with the same end result._

_He leaned forward and rested his head against the steering wheel, trying to calm his jittery nerves. John said they were in danger. Dean could deal with that, he dealt with it on a daily basis. Then panic seized him, making him feel numb all over—if they were in danger, it could only mean Sam was in danger as well. Dean couldn't accept that, couldn't sit around and let something happen to his kid brother._

_Dean turned the engine over and the classic roared to life. He sped away from the cemetery, knowing exactly what his destination was—Palo Alto, California. He had to make sure Sammy was okay, then he had to find John, in that order._

_As the city lights faded in his rearview mirror, Dean couldn't help but wonder if his wish had come true after all._

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam's voice broke through Dean's memories and the older hunter glanced over to see Sam had a worried expression on his face.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm fine." Dean gave his little brother a quick smile, hoping it would reassure him. It seemed to work as Sam focused his attention on the printouts once again. "So, what about the other murders?"

"Brad Pershing was found dead the same night as Carlie Smith. He took a swan dive from his fifteenth story apartment."

"Suicide?"

"That's what the police are saying…"

"But?"

"But the condition he was found in says otherwise." Sam glanced at Dean. "His eyes were completely white. The coroner says it appeared as if someone painted over his eyes."

Dean's eyes narrowed, but Sam missed it completely. "A couple days later, Phil Dunham walks in the middle of traffic and is killed instantly when he's hit by a car. Then yesterday, Frank Rose, a construction worker, fell off the scaffolding and impaled himself on a rebar."

"Is there any connection between any of the victims?"

"Not that I could find so far."

"Do we at least have a starting point?"

"Yeah." Sam looked down at his notes. "Mitch Cooley. He was the last person to speak with Brad before he took the leap."

Dean turned off the exit for New Orleans and nodded. "Let's go find a motel and then we'll talk to Mitch."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Again, thank you for the reviews. They really mean the world to me and encourage me to write. So for those of you who are too shy to leave one, please do. I need to know I'm going on the right track here.**

**A big thanks to Bayre...only the best BETA in the world!**

**Enjoy!**

After checking into the Southern Motor Inn, Sam and Dean were on their way to pay Mitch Cooley a visit. Pulling the Impala over to the curb, Dean looked up at the small home. It looked to be no bigger than a two-bedroom home, with white vinyl siding and hunter green shutters. The yard didn't look so bad, but you could tell this was a bachelor's pad due to the absence of flowers that dotted every other home on the block. A late-model red Ford Ranger was parked under the small carport.

Dean let out a sigh and fumbled with his tie. "You know, there's only so many times we can use this getup and I gotta tell you, I think we're reaching the quota." Both brothers were dressed conservatively in their suit and ties they brought out for special occasions such as this.

Sam smiled. "I think we still have a few more uses out of these."

Dean pouted. "It still sucks." He pushed the door open and Sam followed close behind, grabbing a briefcase from the backseat.

The brothers walked up the short walkway and Dean rang the doorbell. The door remained unanswered after a minute, so Dean rang again, finding the little patience he'd managed to hold onto was thinning quickly. When the door still remained unanswered, Dean kept pushing the tiny button, the ringing becoming incessant.

"A bit childish, don't you think?" Sam asked, arching a brow.

"What?" Dean kept pressing the doorbell. "The guy is clearly home. If someone is taking the time to ring the doorbell, then you should take the time to answer it. Otherwise, it's just rude."

"And what you're doing isn't?"

"No, not at all."

Finally the door was flung open by an angry looking guy with mussed red hair who seemed to be around Sam's age. His eyes appeared to be bloodshot and Dean instantly recognized the symptoms of a long night with the three J's—Jose, Jack, and Jim. "What the hell is going on out here?"

_Oh, yeah…someone had a wild night_, Dean thought as he caught a whiff of the red head's breath. "Mitch Cooley?"

"Who wants to know?"

Dean plastered a big shit-eating grin on his face. "My name is Paul Rogers and this is Mike Delp," he said, pointing at Sam. "We're with United Life Insurance."

Mitch began to close the door. "I'm not interested."

Dean stopped the door before it could be closed completely. "We're not trying to sell you anything, Mitch."

Mitch's eyes narrowed. "Then what do you want?"

Sam stepped forward, a sympathetic smile planted firmly on his face. "We're here to talk to you about your friend, Brad Pershing."

"Why would you need to talk to me about Brad? Shouldn't you be talking to his family?"

"We already have," Sam lied. "We just need to tie up some loose ends and make sure everything is correct before the company will agree to pay out."

"Company policy," Dean supplied. "You understand."

Mitch studied them for a few moments longer and Dean decided right there if the kid wasn't going to let them in, he was going to kick the door open. He was sure Sam would have something to say about that, but he didn't really care. It had been a good long while since he'd gotten to kick open a door and he was itching to do it again. Unfortunately for Dean, Mitch stepped back and let the brothers in.

_Dammit!_

Walking into the home, Dean saw the inside didn't look much better than the outside. Clothes were strewn about everywhere, along with empty take-out containers and, Dean noticed with amusement, pornographic videos and magazines he was sure would make Sam turn at least ten shades of red. Dean turned his head and saw his little brother had averted his gaze and was nearing shade number eight. Dean snorted and Mitch turned back to look at him.

"Did you say something?"

"Sorry…I had something in my throat."

Mitch nodded as he led the way into the small kitchen. Dean looked back at Sam and smirked; Sam returned the favor by giving his brother a finger and a glare to match.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"No, thank you," Sam said as he sat down at the small table.

Mitch seemed relieved by that as he pulled out a beer for himself out of the small, avocado green refrigerator and sat down opposite the brothers. "So, what did you want to know about Brad?"

"How long did you know him?" Dean asked.

"Almost all my life. We'd been friends since the first grade."

"Did Brad have a history of depression?" Sam asked.

Mitch scoffed. "Are you kidding? Brad was the happiest person I knew. It was kind of annoying sometimes, to tell you the truth."

"So he wasn't on any medication or anything?"

"No way. The guy hated to take an aspirin."

"Then why do you think he would have committed suicide?" Dean asked, clasping his hands together on top of the table.

"He wouldn't." Mitch leveled a gaze at the brothers. "He didn't."

"That's not was the police are saying."

"The cops around here wouldn't know a suicide if it bit them in the ass."

"You don't sound like you're a big fan of them."

"You would be right." Mitch sighed and shook his head. "Every time I turn around, they're breathing down my neck."

"I know the feeling," Dean muttered under his breath.

"What?" Mitch looked at Dean, confused.

Sam spoke up. "Mitch, why don't you think it was a suicide?"

Mitch looked at Sam and shrugged. "Brad had a lot going for him. He graduated the top of his class and he was just beginning his internship at Tulane Medical. He was happy."

"Something must have happened."

"The only thing I can think of is he just split from his girl."

"Did she break it off?"

"No, he did."

"Why did he do that?"

"He couldn't deal with her and his internship at the same time, it was just too much for him. They'd been together for three years and he realized she wasn't going to slow down and get serious."

"What do you mean?"

"She liked to party, have a good time. Brad used to be the same way, but then he got serious about his life. It took everything I had to get him to go out for one night."

"How did she take it?" Sam asked.

"She was devastated, a complete mess."

"This girlfriend…she have a name?" Dean asked.

"Maggie Lewis."

Dean made a note on a small notebook he pulled out of his pocket.

"Can you tell us what happened the night Brad died?" Sam asked.

"I don't know much," Mitch admitted. "Brad called me a little after midnight. I tried to get him to come out, but he said he was too tired. Then there was a knock on the door and he told me he had to go."

"Do you know who was at the door?"

"No, he never said."

"All right." Dean pushed back from the table and Sam did the same. "I think we have all we need."

Mitch started to rise from the table, but Sam held up a hand. "We'll show ourselves out."

The brothers began to walk towards the door, but Dean stopped before he could open in. "By the way, this Maggie Lewis…you know where she lives?"

"Why do you want to talk to her?" Suspicion crept into Mitch's voice.

"Like Mike said, we have to cover all of our bases."

"Oh…" Mitch didn't seem convinced. "She lives at the Baywood Commons, apartment eleven."

"Thanks a lot, Mitch." Dean opened the door and the bright sunlight greeted them as they walked towards the Impala.

"You really think the ex will know something?" Sam asked as he threw the briefcase on the backseat.

Dean shrugged out of his jacket. "Don't know, but it can't hurt to find out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Dean pulled up to the Baywood Commons, a three-level apartment complex on the edge of the French Quarter, Sam was impressed with the well-manicured lawns surrounding the conservative building. If you were going to live anywhere in New Orleans, he figured this was one of the prime real-estate destinations to call home. He and Dean had stopped by the motel long enough to change into "civilian clothes" as his brother like to call them and were now on their way to speak to Maggie. Getting out of the Impala, Sam stretched his long body until he heard several pops up and down his spine.

"Geez, Sammy, you keep stretching like that and you won't fit in the car anymore. I'll have to start strapping you down to the roof." Dean laughed.

Sam shot his brother a look. "You know, you just keep getting funnier and funnier every time you open your mouth."

Dean shrugged, flashing his brother a hundred-watt smile. "What can I say? It is a gift."

"And apparently you still haven't recognized sarcasm when it slaps you in the face."

"That would be because you're not so good at it."

"Let's just get this done." Sam shut the car door and began to walk up the small sidewalk towards the circular iron staircase.

"And Sasquatch takes another loss." Dean shook his head as he followed his brother up the staircase. They came to a stop in front of apartment eleven and Sam softly knocked on the door. It was answered within a matter of seconds by a strikingly beautiful woman with long brown hair and the deepest green eyes Sam had ever seen.

Sam had to mentally shake himself in order to tear his gaze away. "Um…Maggie Lewis?" He noticed in the corner of his eye Dean was staring at him, trying his best not to laugh. _I am definitely going to hear about this later…_

"Yes," the woman smiled. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Sam Collins and this is my partner Dean Stanley—we're reporters with the _Times-Picayune_. Is it all right if we ask you some questions?"

"Can I see some ID?"

Sam and Dean pulled out their fake press badges and flashed them at her. She glanced at them quickly before they slipped them back into their pockets.

"What is this about?" Maggie asked.

"We're investigating the deaths that have been occurring lately throughout the city," Dean said, smoothly. "Thought you could help us fill in some blanks."

"I don't understand."

"Look, Miss Lewis—" Dean began.

"—Maggie."

"—Maggie, we can either do this out in the hallway or we can do it in the privacy of your home. You choose."

Maggie studied the brothers a few seconds before she reluctantly opened the door wider to allow them in. Sam turned his head and shot his brother a withering glare before entering the apartment and Dean just gave him an innocent shrug. Sam knew his brother wanted answers but he didn't understand why he had to be such a complete ass about it sometimes.

"So, can I get you guys anything to drink? Water? Juice? Sweet tea?"

"Water would be great," Sam answered.

Maggie nodded and went into the kitchen to get the beverages as Sam took a seat on the small sofa. Dean walked around the living room, glancing at all of the trinkets lining the small shelves surrounding the television. It was a variety of things, ranging all the way from ceramic angels to medieval dragons and they took up every inch of space. He turned towards Sam and raised his eyebrows in question and Sam just shook his head.

"Dean, try to tone it down a little," Sam hissed angrily.

"What?" Dean sat next to his brother on the sofa. "We want to know answers Sam and we're not going to get them by standing out in the hallway while she plays dumb."

"We don't even know if she knows anything about what's going on!"

"Exactly, which is why we need to find out."

Sam was about to argue with Dean further, but Maggie walked in carrying a small tray holding three glasses of iced water. The brothers each took a glass, and grabbing one for herself, Maggie took a seat on the chair opposite them.

"So, what did you need to talk to me about? Is this about Brad? Carlie?"

"You knew Carlie Smith?" Dean asked, setting his glass on the small table next to him.

Maggie nodded. "She was my best friend."

"Really?"

Again Maggie nodded.

"Were you with her the night she died?"

"For a while."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means we hung out for a while. She told me she needed to get out and get some fresh air. I volunteered to go with her, but she said she wanted to go alone."

"Do you know why she would go to the St. Louis Cemetery?"

Maggie shrugged. "Her grandmother was buried there. She always went there to talk to her when she was stressed."

"What was she stressed out about?"

"Our last year at Tulane was coming up in a couple of weeks. She's been stressing out about it because she still didn't know what she was going to do."

Sam nodded, sympathetically. "I've been there before." When he first got into Stanford, he could remember not knowing what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He was content on settling on anything that didn't involve hunting, wanted to be as far from it as possible. Sam still wanted to help people, it was something he felt great pride in, always would. He remembered Professor Guice, his debate instructor, suggesting he give Law a try since he excelled at every debate. He spent a lot of time with his career counselor, finding out all he could about the different branches of law and finally decided on Criminal Law—he wanted to put criminals away so they would never have a chance to hurt anyone else, he wanted to give victims a chance to have a voice.

Maggie smiled. "I kept telling her not to worry about it, but she just wouldn't listen to me. But that was Carlie—she always freaked out about anything and everything."

"That sounds like Sammy here," Dean said, smiling at his brother.

Sam shot the older hunter a look that clearly said he was going to kill him the first available chance he got. Maggie just glanced at the two, confused by their behavior.

"Are you sure you two aren't brothers?"

Sam chuckled uncomfortably. "No…we just spend a lot of time together."

"Okay," Maggie nodded. She grinned at Sam and the younger man smiled right back, his cheeks blushing slightly.

Dean cleared his throat a little louder than necessary, clearly trying to break the moment. "So…about Carlie. Did she have any enemies? Piss anyone off lately?"

"Carlie? No way…she always went out of her way to help everyone. And anyway, I don't see why you're asking about this. The coroner said she died of a heart attack."

"That's right, but we want to make sure. Sometimes the police miss something and we just want to know they didn't."

Maggie looked at Sam, horrified. "So…you think Carlie could have been murdered?"

"We don't know anything for sure," Sam said softly.

"What about Brad Pershing?" Dean asked.

"What about him?" Maggie turned her attention back to Dean. "He committed suicide."

"That's not what his friend is saying."

"Who? Mitch?" Maggie laughed. "Mitch is always drunk—I'd be surprised if he could even wipe his own ass. He's just trying to gain attention at Brad's expense—end of story."

"When did you last speak to Brad?"

"The night he died." Maggie glared at Dean, realizing what he was implicating. "What, do you think I had something to do with his death?"

Dean shrugged. "You tell me."

Maggie quickly rose from her chair. "How dare you come into my home and accuse me of murder!"

Sam stood up, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "No one is saying that, Maggie." He shot his brother a pointed look. "Right, Dean?"

Maggie wasn't having any of it. "I think you've asked enough questions." She stormed over to the door and opened it. "Please leave."

"Maggie, my partner really didn't mean to accuse you…" Sam trailed off as Maggie shook her head.

"I don't want to hear anything else," Maggie said, wiping away a tear trailing down her cheek.

Sam sighed as he and Dean walked towards the door. He decided right then and there his brother really was capable of being a complete ass when he wanted answers, didn't care who he upset in the process. It was one thing to question a person about their loved one's death, but to basically accuse them of the crime itself, there was just no sense in that. He really didn't know what he could say to the young woman to make her feel better. Instead, he just reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled his cell number on it. He handed it to her as Dean walked into the hallway.

"Listen, I really am sorry about my partner. If you want to talk about it or know anything that may help, don't hesitate to call."

Maggie nodded and grabbed the slip of paper from his hand. She didn't say anything as she closed the door behind him. Sam walked ahead of his brother and down the staircase, towards the Impala.

"What, are you going to be pissed at me now?" Dean demanded as he got in the car.

"Is there a quota you have to meet each day that requires you to be an ass?"

"I just asked her a question, Sam."

"No, Dean, you didn't."

"I'm not going to argue with you about this, Sammy. You heard what she said—she knew the first two victims."

"It's a coincidence."

"Really? And since when do you believe in that? In our line of work, there are no coincidences." Dean started the car and shook his head. "Don't pretend I don't know where these feelings really are coming from."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, annoyed.

"You like her. I saw it as soon as she opened the door, you couldn't tear your eyes away from her."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Dean pulled the car out into traffic. "Yeah, I never do."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews...they really do mean love to me so keep sending them my way!**

**This chapter focuses mainly on thoughts more than dialogue, but I felt it was needed. As always, I ask you to tell me what you think, good or bad.**

**Another update will happen as soon as I can get it out!**

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marie watched from Maggie's living room window as the Winchester brothers got into their car and began arguing with each other. She never was one to like conflict, but recently, she'd come to relish it, thrive in it. It was becoming like a drug for her and she found herself wanting, needing more.

She never used to be like that, never was the one who liked to see conflict or even be in conflict. She wanted to resolve it, if anything. But opening her eyes and immersing herself into the living world once again changed her stance on that. Everywhere she looked, she saw pain, suffering, violence, betrayal. Her fair city wasn't what it once been—it was dirty now, contaminated and showed no signs of improvement. It was getting worse with each passing day, night, week, month, year and Mother Nature wasn't the only one to blame for this. It was people or the acts of them—they were greedy now, hungry for blood and power.

She felt the pain of others when they came to visit her grave. It was mostly women who felt they were wronged by a loved one or by anyone in general. She remained in that tomb for so long, suffering, as everyone made their wish and told her their reasons. She wanted so much to reach out to them, tell them everything was going to be all right and work out for them in the end, but even she was beginning to realize that was a lie. She was lying to the people she swore to protect and something inside her finally snapped. Marie realized she couldn't lie to them anymore, couldn't make them believe something even she didn't believe.

So Marie came up with a spell. Not a simple one, mind you—it took a lot of concentration and many years to perfect. But it was a spell that, in the end, would have great rewards for her and dire consequences for others. It was a spell that would allow her to roam the streets of New Orleans once again, to make her town like it once was, to make people pay for the havoc they had wreaked on innocents.

Marie walked away from the window as she saw the black classic car pull off into traffic. She knew the boys were lying as soon as they introduced themselves. She'd seen the shorter one before, could remember everything about him as if it had only been yesterday. She remembered the pain and longing in his voice as he stood outside her tomb that rainy night two years ago and made his wish.

Even if he'd never made the wish and never came to her grave, she knew who he and the younger man with him were. Being a spirit, a powerful one at that, had its upside because people talked and the Winchester name was one that was most commonly used. Sure, there had been other hunters, but none as feared and loathed by the spirit world as the Winchester boys—Sam and Dean. They were the real deal and everyone was just longing to have their chance at them, to prove they could be the ones to bring them to their knees.

Though that was never her intention, Marie was going to be the one who did just that. What was the use of coming out into the open, if you couldn't have a little fun on the side? She knew exactly how she could do it, too, knew how she could cause a rift between the brothers. It wouldn't be easy and it would take a lot of persuasion on her part, but when she set her mind to a task, she always saw it through to the very end.

Walking to the bedroom, she stopped in front of the full-length mirror and smiled at her reflection. The girl she currently possessed had been a wonderful choice. She'd had such anger and such pain brewing inside of her, it almost made the voodoo queen giddy. She'd been easy to possess and she'd shown no signs of weakening or even fighting against her control, it was as if she'd been waiting for this release for such a long time and Marie was only too happy to oblige.

Marie was only going to use Maggie until she granted the girl's wish, but then she thought better of it. She needed a vessel in order to get her work done and use her power and Maggie was the perfect candidate. Marie didn't see why she had to only delegate herself to one woman's pain, so she reached out to other women who'd been scorned. All it took was a seedy little bar, a few drinks, and the young women were giving the voodoo queen their life stories, confessing to her who'd wronged them. Of course, when they confessed this to her, they never meant for her to kill them, they just wanted a willing ear to listen to them bitch and moan. Marie figured she'd owed them a release from their pain and what better way than in the form of their significant others' untimely deaths?

Phil Dunham had been the first "unfortunate" victim after Brad. Poor old Phil just never could say no to that busty blonde secretary of his and it had finally caught up with him. Madeline, his wife of six years, just couldn't take it anymore. She'd done everything an angry wife normally did—threw his stuff out on the lawn, trashed his prized Porsche, and showed up at his law firm, shouting out to all of his colleagues of her husband's indiscretions and embarrassing the hell out of Mitzi, the secretary. Marie found Madeline getting piss drunk at Marley's, a seedy little bar tucked away between a couple of abandoned businesses and the woman had been all too willing to blurt out everything about her husband, wishing he would get what was coming to him.

It didn't take too much prodding, Marie was more than happy to grant the wish, if anything to show the bastard and any other man what happened when they scorned a woman. Phil had been walking across the street, to pick up his dry cleaning when he all of a sudden felt the urge to jump in front of a tour bus. Of course, it had taken some gentle nudging from Marie in order for him to do that, but in the end there was just no way Phil was getting out of it. The bus tried to stop in time, but it was just too late for poor Phil. Marie remembered feeling a pleasant warmth run through her body as she heard the sickening sound of metal on flesh, as she saw the blood glittering like rubies in the sunlight.

The last one had been Frank Rose, a young man who thought it was okay two screw around with two women at the same time. Marie had struck gold with that one, considering she found both of his conquests conversing with one another at Marley's, more than happy to share their shitty relationship with anyone who would listen. Marie lent them that ear they needed, listened as they told her how Frank would grow tired of one and move on to the next one, neither girl knowing about the other. The women finally found out about each other, when they showed up at his apartment at the same time. Instead of being angry with each other, they chose to be angry with Frank, planning all sorts of horrible, painful situations for him.

Though they never asked for her help directly, she figured she owed it to them and came up with a sweet little revenge of her own. She found out from the women he worked in construction, building up homes and businesses that were destroyed during Hurricane Katrina. It was perfectly natural for someone to have an accident on the job, there never would be an investigation if someone just happened to fall from a scaffold. Only Marie and Frank, in his last moments, knew it was anything but. The way the police and foreman figured it, Frank lost his balance during a strong gust of wind and fell the eighteen stories to his death. Of course the rebar had been Marie's doing, conjuring it up at the last moment. She wanted the cheater to know exactly how it felt to be pierced in the heart.

She listened to many other stories, but she didn't want to spread herself out so thin, to get everyone suspicious of what was happening. They deaths were blamed on suicides or natural causes up until this point and she didn't see any reason for everyone to believe otherwise. She'd heard whispers of black magic and voodoo, since this was New Orleans and all. Every time someone died suddenly, it was always blamed on voodoo; people just didn't want to come up with any other explanation and since New Orleans was so rooted in legend and superstition, it was easy to get others to believe as well.

Everything was going okay for the past week—until now, that is, until the Winchester brothers decided to show up. Marie knew exactly why they were here, they suspected something supernatural going on and they wouldn't rest until they could prove it was true. She should have known they would show up, they seemed to do just that at the most inopportune times. She would admit she was worried about them, but she would keep her eye on them, make sure they didn't get too close. She didn't want to strike at them yet, it seemed premature and if anything, it would make them pursue it even harder.

No, she would wait until a perfect opportunity dropped into her lap. But that didn't mean that Maggie couldn't have her fun, Marie figured she owed that much to the girl. She saw how Sam looked at her, couldn't keep his eyes off of her, and knew something in Maggie was saying she was definitely interested in the young hunter. And who knew—maybe Marie would be able to use that if things started to get a little bad.

Glancing down at the sheet of paper in her hand, she smiled as she read the phone number, feeling a slight tremor rock her body.

Yes, this could be very good…

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was around seven that evening when Sam and Dean finally returned to their small motel room. It wasn't an impressive room—the walls were made of cheap pine paneling, the carpet a dull muddy brown. A small night table was nestled in between two twin beds and a 19-inch TV rested on top of a small plywood dresser. A round table with two chairs was to the left side of the room and to the right was a tiny bathroom.

Dean shrugged off his jacket and threw it on one of the chairs and collapsed onto the bed. After their little exchange outside the Baywood Commons, he and Sam had been treading on careful ground with each other, neither one wanting to get into another argument. Dean didn't like the quiet, he liked Sam bitching at him, though he would never admit it to the kid. He just couldn't understand why Sam wouldn't open his eyes up to the possibility that maybe the leggy brunette was involved in the murders and couldn't understand his behavior. Sam never got this way with a girl, never allowed himself to get distracted from a job. If anything, that was something Dean would do. _Maybe I'm rubbing off on him, after all._

He looked over to see Sam was spreading out notes on his bed, looking at each of them intently. They had spent the remainder of the afternoon interviewing friends and family of the other two victims, Phil Dunham and Frank Rose. They claimed to know nothing and were saying the same thing the cops were—it was suicide in each case, plain and simple. _Plain and simple, my ass. Since when is anything we look into plain and simple?_

Dean grabbed the remote from the nightstand and sitting on the edge of his bed, turned on the TV. There weren't many channels, just basic cable and he sped through each one, trying to find something that would grab his attention. Finding nothing remotely interesting, Dean finally settled on a repeat of _Seinfeld_. It wasn't something he really watched, but he figured, hoped, the laughter would break up the tension.

The older hunter couldn't entirely blame Sam for the tension in the room, he was just as much to blame. Ever since Sam mentioned Marie Laveau's name, Dean couldn't help but think back to that night when he made the wish. He knew there was no way the wish could come true, it was just a legend, a superstition. And while Dean found himself open to most things, it was just really hard to grasp his head around the fact that maybe his wish did come true, after all. Was it a coincidence John had called while he was in the cemetery making the wish? Was it a coincidence that that innocent event threw him and Sam together once again?

And then other thoughts troubled Dean—if the wish actually did come true, was it his fault he pulled Sam into this world again, a world Sam tried so desperately to get away from? Could Dean be to blame for Jess's death? What if he'd never shown up to pick Sam up, would Jess still be alive? Would Sam and Jess be living their ideal life right now? Would Sam blame him for all of this if he ever found out about Dean's wish? Would Sam leave him again?

The last thought is what scared the older man the most. He'd never say it to Sam, but he wouldn't be able to take it if the kid left him again. It hurt to see Sam walk away from him months ago, back in Indiana. It scared him because he didn't know what Sam would be walking towards, only what he was walking away from—protection, safety, love. And now, after finding out what the demon's plans were for his kid brother and telling him what John said to Dean before he died, he couldn't have Sam go away again. He had to keep an eye on him and if that meant keeping a secret from him that was more than likely to push Sam away, then Dean was going to keep it.

A rumble in Dean's stomach made him realize he hadn't eaten since breakfast, and that had only been a honey bun and a Coke from a gas station back in Lake Charles. He pulled himself off the bed and grabbed his jacket, glancing at his brother. "Hey, I'm hungry. You want to go get something to eat?"

Sam shook his head and kept his eyes focused on his notes. "No, I'm good."

"Do you want me to bring you back anything?"

"No."

"All right, don't say I didn't offer. I'll be back in a bit. I'm just going down the street."

Sam nodded.

Dean sighed realizing he wasn't going to get any other answers from Sam. Letting himself out of the room, he hoped Sam managed to get that stick he had wedged up his ass out before he got back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam leaned back against the flimsy faux oak headboard and let out a long sigh. The notes weren't making any sense to him, nothing about the case was making any sense to him. A part of him wanted to agree with what the cops were saying, that all the deaths were nothing more than suicides. Any casual observer would say the same thing and there wasn't any evidence to say otherwise. But with what he and Dean did, he knew there was something more to this; his mind wouldn't let him think different.

There was something odd about the deaths. First of all, the fact that most of the victims were male, with only the first being female, confused the young man. From what he could gather talking to the victims' families, the only thing linking the men together was they had been unfaithful. But that still left out Carlie Smith—how did she figure into this? Why was she the only female to die? Was her death just the result of a heart attack, like the coroner was saying, or was there something supernatural going on?

And Maggie…

How did she fit into all of this? Was it a coincidence she knew the first two victims, or was there a reason to suspect her like Dean was saying? Why was Sam willing to go against his brother and trust the word of a woman he barely knew? Didn't Dean earn his trust and respect by now? And why was Dean acting so strangely when Sam mentioned Marie Laveau on the way there? It was almost as if Dean was hiding something, Sam was sure of it. He wanted Dean to be able to tell him what was going on, not brush it off with an excuse he only hoped Sam would believe. Sam knew his brother well enough to know when Dean was keeping something from him and Dean should know by now he couldn't keep something from his younger brother.

Sam groaned as he felt the faint traces of a headache forming in the back of his head. All this thinking wasn't going to do him any good, not give him the answers he wanted. If anything, it was only going to drive him crazy and make him even more frustrated than he already felt. To make matters worse, his stomach started to growl, fussing at him for neglecting it for so long. He didn't know why he refused to go get something to eat with Dean. It was obvious his brother was trying to make amends with him after their argument, but Sam, carrying on the Winchester tradition of being stubborn, wouldn't agree to it.

_Maybe I can catch him if I hurry_, he thought as he pushed himself off the bed. He was heading towards the bathroom when the ringing of his cell phone stopped him. Walking over to the bed where he's thrown his jacket, he dug it out of the pocket and answered it on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Sam?" asked a hesitant female voice.

"Yeah…who is this?"

"This is Maggie—Maggie Lewis. You spoke to me earlier."

Sam felt a flutter in his chest at the mention of her name. "Maggie…hey," he said shyly.

"Listen, I know this may be a little weird, but I was hoping we could talk. Do you think we could maybe go out and grab a bite to eat?"

Sam thought about Dean, how his brother would react if he found out Sam agreed to go out with a potential suspect. But he figured Maggie wouldn't be willing to talk if Dean was with him and they needed answers. "Sure," he finally said. "Where did you want to meet?"

"Where are you staying at?"

"The Southern Motor Inn."

"I know the place," Maggie said. "There's a good little Cajun café right down the street from there—Jambalaya's."

"Yeah, I saw it when we pulled in," Sam said.

"Good…so I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes?"

"Sounds good." He disconnected the call and quickly scribbled a note to Dean, telling him he was going out and would be back later. Then, grabbing his jacket and his copy of the room key, he walked out the door and made his way to the little café.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean had to admit it felt good to get out of the motel room, away from his brother, even if it was just for a short time. It's not that he wanted to get away from Sam, he just needed a break from him. Sam could be as intense as the best of them and when he was, it was hard to be in the same room for fear of being caught in Sam's mood. It was something Dean never understood about Sam—after all, Dean was supposed to be the intense one, not Sam. Sam was supposed to be the one with the level head, the brains of the outfit, but it seemed as if he was willing to give all of that up for a girl he hardly knew.

It wasn't that Dean didn't want his kid brother to be happy. Hell, after everything that happened in the last year, Sam deserved to have a little happiness; more than deserved, he needed it. Dean never wanted his brother to see the darker side of the world, the one that stayed hidden in the shadows. He'd done all he could to keep Sam away from that world, give him a shot at normalcy and the only thing it was doing was coming back and biting him in the ass. He knew Sam was still having a hard time dealing after Jess's death; he refused to spend much time with a woman for fear they would have the same fate as Jess. It took a lot of prodding to get Sam to agree to see Sarah Blake, but even that was for their job. It wasn't an out of the blue occurrence, there were strings attached, as was much of the things they did for themselves.

But Maggie—for some reason, she struck a bad nerve for the older hunter. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, just something was telling him they should be cautious around her, not put all of their trust into her. Of course, trying to convince Sammy of that might prove to be a little difficult and he wasn't sure if his kid brother would believe him or not. He barely mentioned it back at Maggie's apartment and Sam basically blew up at him. Maybe it would be better if Dean was cautious enough for the both of them—if he thought Sam was getting in over his head, he'd pull him away and make him see.

The case was bothering Dean more than he would have liked. He just didn't buy everyone's excuse that these deaths were suicides; it just seemed to be the easy excuse for everyone so they didn't have to deal with them. Suicides didn't happen so often during the course of a week, at least he'd never heard of that many before. There was something else going on, something darker at work. He'd learned enough over the years hunting with his dad to know when to trust his instincts, and right now those instincts were screaming at him some black magic was at work; something about the deaths were a little off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. And it wasn't the black magic he'd come in contact with the last time he'd been in New Orleans—that was your basic run-of-the-mill moron who thought he'd held all that power. This felt differently to Dean, more powerful and potent.

He'd have to research it a little better, dig more up on the voodoo culture and see what he could find. Maybe convince Sam there was some evil brewing in New Orleans, and not human kind, but supernatural.

_That may be easier said than done…_

Dean pushed his thoughts away as he pulled open the door to Ricky's Bar and Grill and was instantly bombarded with the distinct sounds of voices chatting and having an all around good time. Walking up to the bar, Dean's mouth began to water as he took in the smells of fried catfish and chicken that were emanating from the kitchen. He took a seat on the barstool and signaling the bartender, ordered a beer. While the bartender was getting his drink, he picked up a laminated menu and began to look it over, trying to find something that would quiet his stomach and something to satisfy Sam's girly taste.

The bartender placed a bottle in front of Dean and the hunter pushed a five at him. Finally a cute waitress with short blonde hair came up and asked to take his order. He ordered the seafood medley for himself and a grilled chicken sandwich for Sam. The waitress flashed him a dazzling smile and then retreated into the kitchen to place his order.

Dean picked up his beer and as he quietly nursed it, let his eyes roam the crowded room. Almost every table in the joint was occupied and the constant chatter among the patrons made it hard for Dean to pick up on any conversations. But that was okay with him, because the last thing he wanted to do was hear someone bitch and moan about their jobs and lack in a love life. _Try mine_, he thought ruefully. _Come back and bitch to me when you're job requires you to traipse through graveyards and worry which demon or monster of the week you were going to have to face next._

"Is this seat taken?"

Dean's head jerked up at the sound of a female's voice. He glanced over to see a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties with dark raven hair and deep blues eyes, was looking at him expectantly. "No, not at all," he said, smiling.

The woman smiled gratefully and sank into the seat. As he listened to her give her order of a strawberry daiquiri to the bartender, Dean began to think maybe tonight wouldn't be such a total waste, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the reviews! You guys rock!**

**Many thanks to Bayre, my awesome beta!**

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jambalaya's was a quiet little café tucked away in a tiny alcove a couple of blocks from the motel Dean and Sam were staying at. Upon entering, Sam saw there were only a few couples scattered around the eatery. Tastefully decorated in beiges and reds, the café featured trinkets and artwork from the Cajun culture which decorated every available inch of the walls. Little crawfish stenciling decorated the top borders and the floor was a dark hardwood that was scuffled, hinting the small restaurant saw many patrons daily.

Sam scanned the crowd until his eyes came to rest on a lone woman in the back of the room, nestled in a red vinyl booth. He quickly made his way towards her and smiled as he looked down at her. "Hey."

Maggie smiled. "Hey…I was beginning to wonder if you got lost."

"Nah, I decided to walk and take in the night life." He took a seat in the booth across from her.

"What do you think of it?"

Sam chuckled. "It's a little crazy."

Maggie nodded as she smiled. "It's takes a little getting used to."

"It seems like everyone likes to have a good time around here."

"It's really not this exciting once you get out of the French Quarter."

"I guess I'm just in awe of it," Sam admitted. "I mean, it's August and there's parades going on out there."

Maggie laughed. "Yeah, we've never quite grasped the concept that Mardi Gras is in February; we believe it should be celebrated any time of the year." She leaned forward in her seat and dropped her voice to a whisper. "If I can give you a little advice, don't raise your shirt while you're here."

"Why's that?"

"It's an open invitation to get pelted with beads. You raise your shirt, you're gonna get hit."

"I'll have to remember that."

The waitress, a petite woman with short graying brown hair, walked up to the table, pad and pen poised. "You kids know what you want?" There was no use denying she had a southern accent.

Maggie folded her menu and handed it to the woman. "I'll take the seafood gumbo." She glanced at Sam. "It's the best gumbo in the city."

Sam nodded and also handed his menu over. "No way I can miss out on that—I'll have the same."

The woman scribbled furiously on the pad. "And what would you like to drink?"

"Sweet tea," they both answered.

"All right—I'll be right back with your drinks." She left the two alone as she rushed off to put in their orders.

"Listen, Maggie…I really want to apologize for my partner earlier. He's normally not like that; I don't know what got into him."

Maggie shrugged. "It's okay. I know he was just doing his job and I realize how suspicious it sounds since I knew both Carlie and Brad. I would have assumed the same thing."

"It's just, Dean…he means well, he really does. When he gets onto a story, he likes to make sure he has everything before he goes forward. He really didn't mean what he said to you."

Maggie put a hand on Sam's arm. "It's okay, Sam, really. I've handled tougher guys than your partner."

Sam smiled. Somehow he figured the young woman in front of him really could handle his brother, and any other guy for that matter. She didn't seem the type who was easily pushed, she fought with everything she had. _Like Jess and Sarah…_

The waitress came back to the table, holding two large glasses of sweet tea. She set them down on the table and then scurried back to the kitchen.

Sam took a sip of the tea, allowing the sweet liquid to slowly make its way down his throat. "So…you told me you wanted to talk."

"You really know how to get down to business," Maggie teased. Sam felt his cheeks grow warm as she continued. "What did you need to know?"

"You and Brad…how serious were you?"

"We were pretty damn serious. We were together three years, did you know that?"

"Mitch told us."

"What else did Mitch tell you about me?"

"Nothing much. He just said you and Brad were going in different directions—Brad wanted to settle down, but you weren't ready to."

Maggie smiled sadly. "He wanted to get married, but I wasn't ready to do that. I think that's kind of what set him off, made him break up with me."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Sam felt a pang in his chest. He remembered he too, was ready to ask Jess to marry him, was shopping around for rings. But he never got the chance to ask, kept putting it off, and then she was taken from him. Sam felt a sense of guilt follow him wherever he went, just knowing how close he'd been to settling down with the woman he loved most in the world, until his other life, the one he'd chosen to keep hidden, came back to knock him down.

"What are you thinking about?" Maggie asked, watching him.

Sam slightly shook his head. "It's nothing."

"What was her name?"

"Who?"

"The woman you're thinking about right now."

"How did you—"

"Know? It's just something a woman can sense. So, do you want to talk about it?"

Sam's brows furrowed as he considered. He really didn't know this woman sitting in front of him, didn't know if he could trust her. Yet there was something calling out to him, telling him he could. Maybe it was the way she was looking at him or the way she was willing to lend an ear, to hear what he had to say, he didn't know. But something was telling him otherwise, telling him to talk to her, to let her in. It was something he didn't do; he'd only let Dean into his life, into his thoughts. He hadn't even let Jess in on everything concerning him and his life, but he was wiling to throw that aside to let Maggie in and he couldn't figure out why.

"Her name was Jess," he heard himself say. "I was going to ask her to marry me."

"It didn't work out?"

"You could say that."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I am too," Sam said softly.

Maggie shook her head. "I never meant to bring up bad memories. I've just always been curious about people and sometimes it gets the better of me."

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't," Maggie said. "We're supposed to be talking about Brad and Carlie, and here I am asking about something personal. So, let's just move on."

"It really doesn't bother me to talk about it," Sam said. He leaned back in his seat as the waitress came over and delivered their seafood gumbo to them. They ate in relative silence during the duration of the meal. Finally, after not being able to eat anymore, Sam sat back in his seat and glanced at Maggie.

"What is it?" Maggie asked. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No," Sam laughed. "It's nothing."

Maggie wiped her face anyway then put the napkin down. "Okay, so I know I said I wasn't going to ask anymore about your personal life, but I just can't stay away."

"What would you like to know?"

"You and Dean…you're not really reporters, are you?"

Sam looked at Maggie, surprised. _How in the world was she able to figure that out? Were he and Dean getting so careless they couldn't even pull off a decent cover story? Did he let it slip at some point during their meal?_

"I'm sorry, I'm doing it again," Maggie said, holding up a hand.

"No, you're not," Sam said. "I just thought we were more convincing than that."

"Actually, you were pretty convincing. I've just always been good at reading people."

Sam nodded, feeling a little bit better. He was glad to know he and Dean hadn't flat out blown their cover, but he didn't like that he was so easily readable either. He usually did pretty well at hiding his feelings, except from Dean. Dean was the only person in the world who could truly know what Sam was feeling and why, and the same went for Dean. Dean had this unbelievable ability to put up a wall to shield himself from everyone, except for Sam.

"So, if you're not reporters, then what are you?"

"Brothers," Sam said, then mentally slapped himself. What the hell was he doing blurting this out to her for? What the hell was going on to make him drop his guard around Maggie and open up to her like this? Dean would surely have his neck if he found out Sam was telling Maggie about them. But for some reason he couldn't stop himself. It was almost as if something was making him open up to her and he didn't like it, but he couldn't stop it, either.

"So, I was right back at the apartment."

"Yeah."

"What are you two doing then? Why are you so interested in Carlie and Brad?"

"Dean and I, we think something else may be going on around here."

"What do you mean?"

"Something weird. That's what Dean and I do—we look into things that aren't easily explained—supernatural things."

Maggie chuckled uncomfortably. "You're going to have to explain this one to me."

"You know the things your parents told you weren't real when you were a kid?"

"What, like the Boogeyman?"

"Exactly, not to mention ghosts, demons, and other creatures that go bump in the night. That's what we do—we stop these things. We go after the things that make up your worst nightmares."

"Wow," Maggie said softly.

Sam nodded, sure he'd managed to scare the young woman away. There was no way she would stick around now, no one would if they were sane. What he and Dean did, it wasn't something people were used to hearing or believing in. To tell a person those things actually existed, that their parents lied to them when they were younger would make anyone run screaming for the nearest exit.

"You think something like this happened to Carlie and Brad?" Maggie finally asked.

"Along with two other people," Sam answered.

"That's just…wow." Maggie nodded and grabbing her glass of tea, took a long sip. "What will you and Dean do?"

"Research it, see if there's anything supernatural involved with the deaths."

"Okay."

Sam brought his hand up and put it over Maggie's, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I'm sorry I freaked you out, that was never my intention."

"No, no…I mean, I asked. I should be a little more careful what I ask for. I guess this will teach me," she added with a nervous laugh.

Just then the waitress came back and delivered their check. Taking their empty bowls, she quickly left the two alone once again. "Listen, Dean and I are going to be in town for a few days and if I haven't managed to scare you away, I really would like to get together again."

Maggie looked at Sam and he could see she was really considering her answer. Finally she smiled and said, "That would be great."

Sam smiled, relieved. "Great." He dug into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet, he counted out some money. Maggie was about to protest, but Sam just held up his hand, silencing her. "It's the least I can do after freaking you out like I did."

"Thank you."

Sam slid out of the booth. "I need to get back to the motel before Dean gets there and starts freaking. Would you like for me to walk you home?"

Maggie shook her head. "I'm going to hang around here a little longer. One of my friends gets off work soon and she wanted to meet up."

"Okay." Sam leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "I had a nice time."

Maggie smiled. "So, did I."

"Bye, Maggie."

"Bye, Sam."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean smiled appreciatively as the tiny raven-haired beauty beside him slowly sipped on her fruity alcoholic drink. His gaze swept up and down her body and he wasn't disappointed at all or trying to hide the fact he was checking her out. She was dressed provocatively, yet conservatively, revealing just the right amount of skin—her denim skirt came just low enough for the imagination to do all the work and the black tank top she wore showed her breasts off just perfectly.

"You know…I usually don't mind an audience, but I think you're being just a little too obvious."

Dean nearly choked on his beer. "I'm sorry…what?"

The woman smiled at him. "You stare at me anymore and I'm afraid your eyes may dry out."

Dean laughed. "Sorry about that, it's just…"

"Just what?"

"Oh, come on—do I have to spell it out for you? You're hot!"

The woman laughed. "I've never quite had it blurted out to me like that before."

Dean held out his hand. "I'm Dean."

"Sophie."

"Sophie…I like that. So, tell me, Sophie? What are you doing here alone?"

"What makes you think I'm alone?"

"Well, I don't see some beefy guy staking out his territory around you. And no offense, but you seem that type."

"None taken," Sophie said. "And to answer your question, yes, I'm alone. I was tired of sitting around in my apartment so I decided to get out for a little while."

Dean raised his beer. "On behalf on all men everywhere, may I say thank you."

Sophie laughed and tapped her glass against Dean's bottle. They each took a long swig, the sounds of Bob Seger's _Against the Wind_ playing in the background, trying to be heard over the loud chatter of the bar.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Sophie asked.

Dean shook his head, confused. "Should I?"

Sophie sighed. "I guess not…it's been almost two years."

"We've met before?" Dean asked, arching a brow.

Sophie nodded. "Here, as a matter of fact, and I think you tried to stare a hole into me then, too."

"I'm sure I would remember you…I mean, you don't look like the kind of girl a guy can forget."

"Apparently I am if you can't remember me," Sophie pointed out.

"I'm sorry," Dean offered lamely.

"No, don't be. I guess you're just like every other guy I meet. You have only one thing on your mind—get me to bed, leave, and forget."

Dean looked at Sophie, at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say to this girl? Yes, he forgot about her—there was no denying that. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition in his mind to remind him of this girl. And not to be a total ass, but he met a lot of women and out of all of those, he didn't remember 98 of their names. He wasn't looking for a commitment, never had been and most of the women he got with understood that.

Just then the waitress came over with his order. Dean pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed the woman a couple of bills. As the woman went off to get his change, he turned his attention back to Sophie. "Look, Sophie, I'm sorry that I don't remember. But you have to realize, if we did hook up, it wasn't meant to be a commitment. It was just a one night fling and if that upsets you, then I'm sorry."

Sophie didn't say anything as the waitress handed Dean his change.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say to make you feel better."

"You don't have to say anything…I'm sorry I even brought it up," Sophie said softly.

Dean sighed as he realized he was being a total jerk about this. But if he honestly stuck around comforting every single woman he flirted with or got to bed, he'd be there for years on end. Besides, he didn't come to New Orleans to get acquainted with old flings, he had a job to do and he wasn't going to do it sitting in a bar, offering lame excuses.

Taking one last swig of his beer, he grabbed the plastic bag full of food. "I've gotta go."

Turning away from Sophie, Dean walked out of the bar and into the humid August night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sophie Reynolds felt like shit, complete and utter shit. It wasn't everyday she was rejected like she just was and it ate at her. She could count off twenty guys right now who would love a shot at her, but no, she had to go for Dean once again. She should have learned her lesson the last time, but some little part of her hoped he would remember. She'd been thinking of him since that night almost two years ago and when she saw him sitting at the bar, it was almost as if fate was calling to her, beckoning her to him once again.

But then again, fate had a way of screwing with your mind, making you believe something good could happen. With her history, Sophie should have guessed what his response would be. She had a way of leaving a wave of guys in her wake, but dammit, she was memorable. She made sure she gave it all she had and that she made a lasting impression on every guy she brought home. So, why hadn't Dean remembered her?

Deciding she was getting tired of the ruckus around her, Sophie left Ricky's Bar and Grill. She knew where she could go to feel better, where she would be appreciated, take her mind off of Dean. Walking the two blocks quickly while dodging all of the drunk revelers, she pushed through the heavy wooden door of Marley's. Everyone knew Marley's was the place to come to, to take your mind off of a man. The bar was like a safe haven for broken-hearted women to grieve and bitch about what went wrong. There was always some sort of support there, and even if the women were to blame for the failure of the relationship, the other single women in the bar didn't blame them—they blamed the men, which was how it should be.

Sophie found a vacant seat at the bar and quickly strode her way over before the seat could be snagged. Throwing her small clutch on the bar, she ordered a double shot of Jack, not caring how the alcohol would burn her throat as it went down.

"Bad night?"

Sophie turned her head to see another young woman sitting beside her. She had long brown hair and bright green eyes and she was looking at Sophie with concern in her eyes.

"You could say that," Sophie said as the bartender, a portly gentleman with thinning brown hair, slid her drink in front of her. She nodded her thanks and threw her head back, allowing the alcohol to work its magic.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Sophie smiled as the sounds of Carrie Underwood's _Before He Cheats_ floated through the air. "You don't want to hear about my problems."

"Hey, you're among a friend here," the woman said. She held out her hand. "I'm Maggie."

Sophie grabbed the other woman's hand. "Sophie."

Maggie held up her hand and indicated for the bartender to give them another round. "So, Sophie…what seems to be the problem?"

"All guys are complete assholes, right?"

"That seems to be the general consensus in here." The bartender delivered their drinks.

"I met this guy almost two years ago, and we had a great time, right?" Sophie didn't let Maggie answer. "So, I see him again tonight and I'm thinking he has to remember me. I mean, I'm good…really good—I shouldn't be that forgettable." She threw back another shot.

"What girl wants to be forgettable?"

"So, he starts flirting with me, just like he did when we met before, so a little part of me is thinking he remembers me. I ask and guess what?"

"He doesn't remember a damn thing."

"You got that right, he didn't remember a damn thing, didn't even pretend to." Sophie reached over and grabbed Maggie's shot and proceeded to throw that one down. "How shitty is that?"

"Pretty shitty," Maggie agreed.

"I mean, I shouldn't be upset about this. He seems to be the kind of guy who has one-night stands. I guess I was just another name on his list, except he doesn't even remember my name," she added bitterly.

"If you ask me, he's not even worth your time, Sophie. Why waste your time on him?"

"I know I shouldn't, but I'm so tired of it, you know. I'm tired of being the girl guys bang and leave." Sophie sighed. "I just want him to know how it feels. I want him to hurt for once, you know?"

Maggie fingered the rim of her wine glass. "This guy…does he have a name?"

"Winchester…Dean Winchester."


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks again for the reviews, guys! I see that a lot of people are checking it out and are maybe too shy to leave a review and that's okay. Just as long as you're enjoying it!**

**Well, this chapter has some angst, so I hope you enjoy!**

**Big, big thanks to Bayre, my sweet little beta!**

"Hey, Sam! I'm back!"

Dean pushed the door to the motel room closed with his foot and set his keys down on the small dresser. Looking up, he saw Sam wasn't sitting on the bed up to his eyeballs in research like he'd left him an hour ago. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked around the room, searching for any sign of his kid brother. Seeing the bathroom door was closed, he set down the plastic bag of food and the six-pack of beer, and walked to it.

"Sam, you in there?" Dean asked, tapping lightly on the door.

No answer.

Dean knocked louder in case his brother didn't hear him. "Sam! Open up!" When there was still no answer, Dean twisted the knob and found it turned easily in his hand. Pushing it open, he rushed inside, damning Sam's pride. To hell with it, he would get what he deserved for not answering him. He quickly looked around the tiny bathroom but saw Sam wasn't in there.

Dean tried to calm the pounding of his heart. There were no signs of a struggle in the room, so that had to be a good sign, right? He shouldn't be reacting like this, but he couldn't help it. After everything that's been happening, with the demon and the threat of Sam being seen as a trophy to hunters, he couldn't help but react this way. His brother should have been here, should have been sitting on the bed waiting for him to return. The older hunter ran a hand through his hair and spotted a sheet of paper sitting on the nightstand between the beds. He didn't know why he didn't see it before.

_Dean—went out to dinner. Be back in a little bit. –Sam. _

Dean crumbled up the paper and threw it angrily at the trash can across the room. Why the hell was he so angry? Sam left him a note for crying out loud, which was better than what he usually did. Usually, he'd have Dean freak for about two hours and then finally call and tell him where he was. So the note was definitely a step forward. It was then Dean realized he wasn't angry about Sam leaving or even the note; it was because Sam had refused to come out to dinner with him, instead opting to go by himself.

Sam was definitely going to get a piece of his mind when he got back.

Thirty seconds after that thought hit Dean, he heard the key turn in the lock and his tall kid brother entered the room. Sam stopped as he closed the door, seeing Dean was glaring at him.

"When did you get back?" Sam asked.

"About ten minutes ago. Where the hell were you?"

"I went out."

"Yeah, I got that one, Sherlock. That note you left explained everything," Dean added sarcastically.

"What? At least I left you one." Sam shrugged out of his jacket and threw it on one of the chairs. "And I told you I was going out to dinner. I don't need to have your permission, Dean."

"I never said you did, Sam. But what pisses me off is that fact I asked you if you wanted to come out to dinner and you blew me off."

"I didn't blow you off, Dean. God, you make it sound like we're married or something."

"You're my responsibility, Sam. I need to know where you are at all times," Dean ground out.

"I'm not twelve, Dean. I'm an adult who can make his own decisions, quite capable of it, actually."

"Sam, I never said you couldn't. It's just with everything that's going on with you…" Dean turned away, refusing to look at his brother. "I can't have you go missing on me again. I can't deal with that again, not now."

"Dude, I left you a damn note! I told you I was going to dinner! What the hell could have possibly happened?"

Dean whirled around to face his brother once more. "What could have happened? Where should I begin? You could have been taken; you could have been killed; you could have been hurt…do I need to go on?"

Sam sighed. "I think you're overreacting now. I was out with Maggie, Dean. We just grabbed a bite to eat."

"Maggie? You blew me off for some chick?"

"She wanted to talk about Brad and Carlie."

"Yeah, and what did she say?"

"Nothing much…she figured out we weren't reporters, though."

"She figured it out?" Dean said, angrily. "How the hell did she figure it out? Did you tell her?"

When Sam only looked down, Dean felt even more anger course through his body. He was only guessing when he asked Sam if he told her. But Sam avoiding his gaze and all of a sudden finding the fading carpet interesting gave him his answer. "What exactly did you tell her?" Dean asked quietly.

"I…I told her what we did, what we were doing here."

"God dammit, Sammy!" Dean didn't stop his fist as it went crashing into the wall even though he wanted nothing more than to slug Sam. The impact put a small dent in the cheap paneling and sent spikes of pain in his hand, but he didn't care. He was pissed as hell right now. He couldn't believe Sam would do this. Sam was never this careless, so what was his problem now? "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't, Dean. It was like I couldn't stop myself," Sam offered lamely.

"You couldn't stop yourself? You couldn't make your mouth stop moving? You couldn't stop talking for once in your life?"

Sam whirled on Dean. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what else to say to you! And I don't know why you're so worked up about this—it was just Maggie."

"That's exactly what I'm worked up about, Sammy. You barely know this woman and yet you blurt out to her what we do? This is a woman who may have something to do with all the deaths going on around here!"

"Not this again," Sam muttered. He walked over to the bed and sat down hard. "Dean, why are you so against her? What happened to innocent until proven guilty? Why are you so adamant to pin her for these murders? And what about Cassie? You barely knew _her _and yet, you told her everything about our family."

"I don't know, Sammy—something about her just doesn't add up. It's a feeling I have. And Cassie was different."

"A feeling?" Sam scoffed. "Is that what we're going to do now? Base our suspects on a feeling you have?"

"What the hell, Sam? You have feelings all the time and we go after those. Why should it be any different for me?"

"It is different, Dean. My feelings are usually tied to my visions."

"Whatever." Dean walked away from Sam and went to stand next to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he stared out and watched as people were still filling the streets, having a good time. Why couldn't his brother just trust him on this, understand where he was coming from? Something about this girl had been off with him from the start, but he just couldn't get Sam to see that. And what was going on with Sam, anyway? Why the hell was he being so defensive?

"I know what this is about…you're jealous."

"What?" Dean turned to glare at Sam. "You can't be serious!"

"I am, Dean. You've been against this since the very beginning and it's because you're jealous. You hate the fact Maggie likes me and not you."

"You're full of shit, Sammy."

"No, that's it. You hate it that a girl may actually choose me over you. You hate that this is out of your control, that you don't have any say over this aspect of my life."

"Now who's overreacting," Dean grumbled.

"I don't see why I didn't see it before, why I've been so blind." Sam shook his head. "And that's not the only thing—something else has been bothering you since we got here and it has to do with Marie Laveau, the wish you made."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Dean walked over to the table holding the food and plucked out a beer from the six-pack he'd picked up at the liquor store next door.

"You've been off ever since I brought the name up, Dean. I know something is bothering you. Now, tell me what it is you wished."

Dean took a long swig of the beer. "I told you, Sammy—I wished for sex with a hot girl."

"I didn't buy that the first time you told me and I'm not buying it now."

"Well, I don't want to talk about it," Dean said stubbornly.

"No, we're going to talk about this now." Sam stood up to face his brother. "I'm sick and tired of stepping around your feelings and avoiding things because you don't want to talk about it. Now, talk to me, Dean."

"Sammy…" Dean shook his head and glanced up at his brother. Sam was fixing him with the patented Sammy Winchester puppy-dog eyes, a look Dean couldn't deny and he hated it. He hated that Sam could manipulate him like that, make him open up. He'd been able to do it ever since he was a child, and if anything, he'd only perfected it. "You want the truth?"

"It would be a nice change."

Dean sighed and sat down on his bed, holding the beer between his legs. He looked up to see Sam watching him intently. "Sam, you have to realize, I never believed in that legend for a second, I still don't as a matter of fact."

"So, why can't you just tell me?" Sam sat down across from him on the other bed.

"When I went to that tomb, I'd just gotten off a hunt and I was more than a little buzzed. I'd heard locals talk about it and I figured I would give it shot, if nothing more than for a good laugh." He took a deep breath. "Sam, I made a wish for you. I wished to have you back in my life."

"What's wrong with that?" Sam asked, confused.

"Nothing, or at least, I didn't think there was. I mean, for all I knew, it didn't work. But when I got back to the car, there was a message from Dad left on my phone. It was the message I played for you back in Palo Alto."

"The one where Dad said we were in danger."

Dean nodded. "The only thing I could think about was that I had to get to you, you were alone and that scared me. And for a brief second…" Dean trailed off.

Sam's eyes widened as he understood where Dean was going with this. "You think she granted your wish…that somehow, Dad's phone call wasn't a coincidence."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know what to think, Sammy." He looked up to see a flurry of emotions running across his brother's face—anger, fear, understanding, and back to anger again. He didn't like that he saw anger, it scared him the most, scared him about how Sam would react. This was why he didn't want to tell him in the first place because he had no idea how Sam would react. "But it has to be a coincidence."

Sam was shaking his head. "I don't think so, Dean. You were messing with a powerful spirit, it didn't matter if it was dormant or not. You made a wish, Dean—a stupid wish."

"It didn't seem stupid to me at the time," Dean bit out.

"It was stupid, Dean!" Sam said, his voice rising in pitch. "Don't you see? It was because of this wish that set everything into motion! It was because of this wish Dad went missing! It was because of this wish you came to get me from California! It was because of this wish…Jess died."

Dean flew up from the bed, getting in Sam's face. "Don't you dare say that, Sammy!" He pushed Sam hard in the chest. "That was not my fault, you hear me! That was the demon and you know that!"

"What if it was the wish that led the demon back to us?" Sam asked.

"That's bullshit, and you know it!"

"Is it, Dean? Can you prove that to me?" Sam demanded.

Dean opened his mouth, but shut it quickly. Could he prove it to Sam? Could he prove his wish hadn't been the cause of the bad luck that had rained down upon their family in the last year? The simple answer was no, he couldn't prove it. But that didn't mean he believed it, either.

"Sam, I'm…"

Sam held up a hand, silencing Dean. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, Dean. I can't, not right now."

"Sam—"

"No."

It was one simple word but it hit Dean hard, harder than any punch to the gut could. He watched as Sam walked to the door and without another glance at Dean, he walked out of the room. The soft click of the door startled Dean, almost as if a gunshot went off in the room.

"What the hell were you thinking, Dean?" He glanced down at the bottle in his hand and with a guttural cry, flung it against the wall.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam couldn't stop the rage building up inside of him. So many things were weighing heavily on his mind and he didn't know where to start, but it all had one source—Dean. Dean was the reason for his foul mood right now, the reason he wanted to scream at the world or anyone who happened to be in his way. How could Dean do that to him? Why did he have to be such a control freak and so possessive? Dean never should have kept this from him, should have told him from the beginning, then maybe they wouldn't be in this predicament now.

Sam honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd been this angry with his brother. Yes, Dean had a tendency of pissing him off more than necessary, but that was just to get a rise out of him, to see how far he could push Sam. But now…Sam never felt this rage towards Dean before. He couldn't stand to be in the same room with him, much less the same city. But he wouldn't leave Dean. Even though he was pissed at him, he would never leave Dean like that, not again—he couldn't.

So Sam would settle for getting away from him for a while. They needed this separation, this time to work out their thoughts. Sam knew if he stayed in the room any longer, he and Dean would come to blows and neither would stop until someone was down for the count.

He walked down the crowded streets, not sure where he was going, but his feet seemed to. They seemed to be setting him on a deliberate path and he was more than happy to let them. He didn't think he could find his way anywhere if he tried, not with how he was feeling. He was surprised he could even walk a straight line, much less keep on his feet.

He walked around for about fifteen minutes and finally realized where he was headed. And the funny thing is, it didn't surprise him. What he was surprised about was that he never realized it before now. He was standing in front of the Baywood Commons, just staring up at Maggie's apartment. He knew why he was there—she would listen to him, talk to him. Not lecture or judge him and he needed that right now, he needed it badly.

Finally his feet moved once again and he made his way up the iron staircase to Maggie's apartment. Coming to a stop in front of her door, he knocked softly, hoping she would answer.

She didn't disappoint as she opened the door within a few seconds. "Sam! What are you doing here?"

Sam looked at her, shyly. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, come on in." She stepped back from the door to allow him in.

Sam stepped into the apartment, now not so sure this was the best idea. What was he doing here, anyway? What was it he hoped to accomplish by coming here? He should have stayed at the motel, so he and Dean could have discussed this more rationally and not screaming at each other. But it was too late to think about leaving now since he was already in and Maggie was looking at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry for springing up on you like this."

Maggie dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry about it and have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? I have beer."

Sam smiled gratefully as he sank down onto the sofa. "A beer would be great."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

He watched as she disappeared into the kitchen and let his mind wander. He really didn't know what he was going to do about his brother. He knew Dean was only looking out for him, but sometimes it got to him. Dean was only looking out for his best interests, but at times Sam felt as if he was suffocating from Dean's protection. He didn't want to be mad at his brother, hated it actually, but Dean backed him into a corner.

And Maggie…yes, Sam liked her, he wouldn't deny that. She was beautiful, smart, and seemed as if she could take care of herself—all qualities he found attractive in a woman. But what was he doing coming to her apartment late at night? Did he really think she wanted to listen to him bitch and moan about his problems with Dean? Here he was acting like the girl in their "relationship," running away as soon as it got to be too much. He was more than sure Dean would never let him hear the end of this for a month if he found out he'd run over here—this was at least a good month's worth of ribbing and Sam wouldn't even blame him for it.

Maggie came back from the kitchen, holding two bottles of beer. She handed one of the amber bottles to him as she settled onto the sofa. She popped the lid off her beer and took a sip, then smiled at him. "Don't think I'm not glad, but are you going to tell me what you're doing here?"

Sam popped his own top. "I just needed to get away from my brother for a while."

"Did you two have a fight?"

Sam barked out a laugh. "I think the entire motel may have heard us." He took a swig of the beer.

"Was it about me?" Maggie asked quietly.

"Among other things."

She put a comforting hand on his leg and he immediately felt himself grow tense, every tingling nerve telling him to be careful. "I'm sorry—I never meant to come between the two of you."

Sam shook his head. "This isn't your fault, Maggie. Dean and I—we just get like this sometimes. It's what you get when you spend so much time together. You have nothing to apologize for, I promise."

Maggie nodded and a comfortable silence grew between the two of them.

Sam allowed his eyes to roam around the room, anywhere but on her face. He couldn't look into her eyes, couldn't let himself be pulled into the deep green pools watching his every move. He knew if he went there, he'd get lost, never want to leave. He didn't know if he would be able to fight it, pull himself away before it got too far.

"I really am glad you came," Maggie said, pulling him away from his thoughts.

"You are?" He still wouldn't look at her.

Maggie nodded and put her beer down on the little coffee table in front of the sofa. "Sam, I'm not going to lie to you—I like you…a lot. And I may be imagining things, but I think you feel the same way about me, too."

"Yeah, I do," Sam said, softly.

"I haven't felt this way in a long time, not even with Brad. It's been a long time since I've _allowed_ myself to feel this way." She brought a hand up and gently stroked his cheek with her thumb.

Sam swallowed the lump rising in his throat. He wasn't going to be able to fight this, wouldn't be able to stop himself. "Me, too."

He finally allowed himself to look into her eyes and lost the battle of will. Quickly setting down the beer, he cupped her face into his hands and allowed himself to let go as he kissed her deeply. Maggie returned the kiss and drew closer to him and Sam felt his nerves begin to stand on end as a warm sensation ran through his body. It was a feeling he thought he'd never feel again after he lost Jess and he loved it, craved it.

Sam and Maggie gave into the kiss more deeply allowing it to become more passionate. Maggie straddled Sam and they moved in sync to the kiss. Sam lifted them from the sofa and Maggie waved her arm behind him to tell him where the bedroom was. He carried her in as they continued to kiss and he pushed the door shut with his foot. He delivered her to the foot of the bed and she quickly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off of him. He returned the favor as he quickly pulled her shirt over her head and undid her bra, her hair falling across her back. They pulled off their pants and fell into the bed as one, still moving as one.

Sam let himself give into her, begging for it not to stop. This is what he needed, would take his mind off of everything that was going wrong in his life and he welcomed it with open arms. He'd forgotten what passion felt like, how much he needed it, missed it and she was making sure to remind him of what he'd been missing. He let his hands trail over every curve of her body, feeling as she tensed underneath him. She was letting him have control and he wasn't missing a beat.

He couldn't even remember what he'd been so angry about before…nothing else mattered but Maggie and his desire.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean sat at the table, staring at their notes but not really seeing them. He couldn't get his mind to focus—all he could think about was Sam and the hurt on his face. He never wanted to cause Sam that pain, never liked for Sam to be in pain. But it was worse this time because he knew it was his fault.

Maybe he had been overreacting lately, but he couldn't help it. Sam was his responsibility, it was his job to make sure the kid was okay. The older hunter had to admit he wasn't doing such a swell job of it right now. If anything, he was pushing Sam away from him and to God knows where—or to God knows who.

But he couldn't let his mind stay on that, worry about Sam. Sam was an adult and he would come back when he was damn well ready to, and there was nothing Dean could do about that. He had a case to focus on and he would be damned if he let Sam's bitch-fest steer him away from that. Like it or not, Dean still suspected Maggie—he now just had to find out how she was involved.

So, here he was going over the research and notes and not sure which way to go. There weren't any solid leads, nothing concrete he could go after. And staring at all these notes was starting to give the hunter a headache, the last thing he needed but an excellent way to cap off a shitty night if he really thought about it.

Realizing he was getting nowhere quickly and the answer wasn't going to jump out at him, he grabbed his keys and cell phone and headed out the door. He didn't know why he all of a sudden felt the urge to go there, but something was pulling at him to. And he knew better than to question one of his ideas.

Getting into the Impala, Dean drove the short distance in a matter of minutes. He got out of the car after making sure he had his cell—just in case Sam called—and walked back to the trunk. He didn't know what to expect, but he sure as hell wasn't going to go in unprepared, so he grabbed his shotgun and flask of holy water. Making sure the flashlight was full of juice, the shut the trunk and began on his trek.

He found it with relative ease this time. Of course, the lack of rain clouding his vision helped a lot. Coming to a stop in front of the tomb, he felt a chill go down his spine. This was the place that started it—the place Dean had possibly managed to screw up his and Sam's lives. He didn't know why he was there, he just needed to be, to face it once again. Maybe it was to convince himself it wasn't real, it wasn't true. To know he still had control and he could make things okay with Sam.

"There's no way it could be true," he said to the darkness. Trying to convince it or himself, he wasn't sure.

"Are you sure about that, Dean?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Again, thank you for the wonderful reviews! They really make my day! And I would like to thank everyone who is just reading this. It makes me feel good to know that you are reading this!**

**To warn you, I end with another cliffie...I love to do them, what can I say?**

**As always, a big huge thanks to Bayre, my awesome beta!**

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Even though it was a humid August night, Dean felt the air cool considerably. He knew who was behind him before he even turned around—he knew the voice. Making sure the grip on his sawed-off shotgun was tight, he whirled around and found his guess was correct.

"You don't look surprised to see me." Maggie smiled at him.

"Well, sweetheart, I'd be lying if I said I was." Dean returned the smile, though his was cocky.

Maggie looked at the gun pointed at her chest. "You wouldn't shoot an innocent woman, now would you?"

"You may be many things, but innocent ain't one of them." Dean raised the gun a little higher. He kept his aim steady, wary of any sudden move she may make. Sam may be right, she may not have anything to do with the deaths, but Dean sure as hell wasn't about to doubt that now. And if he was wrong, they could just chalk this off to a bad day and go their separate ways. But the fact she was standing in a cemetery in the middle of the night, kind of made Dean feel like he was right on this one.

"So, Dean…what brings you out here on a night like this?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Yes, I guess you could." Maggie nodded. "I like it out here—it's quiet."

"You sure you don't have another reason for being out here?"

"Like what?"

Dean nodded towards the tomb. "Maybe Marie can clear that up for us."

Maggie smiled chillingly. "So, you did figure it out. Kudos to you."

Dean gave a casual shrug. "It fits. Carlie Smith, the first victim was found out here, right beside this tomb actually. And though you told me she went out by herself, I'm pretty sure if I get my hands on the security tape, I'll find you were out here with her."

Maggie looked mildly surprised and Dean smiled. "You didn't know they put cameras out here, did you? I didn't either, not until a couple hours ago at least. Apparently there's a lot of vandalism so they put them up around the perimeter. And I'm guessing on this one, but the person that showed up at Brad's door before he took the swan dive—I'm betting it's you. You really were busy that night, weren't you?"

"None of that proves anything."

"Maybe not, but I don't think the police would think twice about considering you a suspect if they got their hands on that little bit of information. And if they looked hard enough, they could peg you for the other two murders, as well."

It was Maggie's turn to be smug. "You wouldn't go to the police, Dean. As I seem to recall, you and the police aren't exactly on the best of terms right now."

Dean smirked. "So, how long have you been possessing Maggie?"

"A little over a week now." Maggie took a step towards Dean. "You think I don't remember you, hunter?"

"I'm a pretty memorable guy."

"Yes, you are…I'll give you that. So memorable in fact, a girl came to see me tonight. Maybe you remember her—Sophie." Maggie winced. "Oh, that's right, you don't remember her. At least, that's what she rambled on about. Let me guess? Just another name on your list, Dean?"

"What does she have to do with this?"

"Not much, really. Except she made a wish…a wish to see you hurt, like you hurt her."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you're doing? Granting wishes?"

"You should know. I granted yours a little over a year ago."

Dean froze. What the hell was going on here? Well, he knew what was going on—she was spelling out everything for him, which was weird in itself. But the wish, that was supposed to have never happened. It wasn't supposed to be true, it couldn't be. "That wasn't real."

"It wasn't?" Maggie walked around him as he followed her with his eyes. "You made a wish, Dean, a wish to see Sammy again. And if I'm not mistaken, you did see him again. The next day, as a matter of fact." She stopped behind him to whisper in his ear. "Now, how are you going to stand there and tell me your wish didn't come true? I gave you exactly what you asked for."

Dean shook his head. "No, that was a coincidence. A pure and simple coincidence."

Maggie tossed her head back as she laughed. "Oh, come on Dean. You don't really believe that do you? I gave you everything you wanted, everything you desired. And the only thing you can do is stand there and tell me I didn't." Her expression became pained. "That really hurts my feelings, Dean."

"I'm sure you'll get over it."

"Yes, I'm sure I will." Maggie took a step away from him. "Maybe Sam could help me."

Dean felt as if someone punched him in the gut. Sam—she just said Sam. What did Sam have to do with this? "You stay away from Sam," he growled.

Maggie tilted her head to the side. "I'm afraid it's a little late for that, Dean." She turned and began to walk away from him.

Dean rushed ahead of her, blocking her exit. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, did I say something?" Maggie asked, feigning innocence.

Dean took a step back and aimed his gun at her chest. "You leave my brother out of this, bitch."

Maggie looked at the gun and rolled her eyes. "You know, I really am tired of having that thing aimed at me." With a wave of her hand, she ripped the gun away from him and sent it flying a few yards away. Dean quickly looked where the gun lay, then turned his eyes back to Maggie. "Who do you think Sam ran to tonight after your little fight, Dean?"

"How do you know we had a fight?"

"Sam came over and told me. I was only too happy to help him get over it."

"What did you do with him?" Dean asked, his voice lethal.

"I didn't do a thing except give him what he wanted."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

Maggie smiled coyly. "What do you think? He was hurt, Dean…it was pathetic, really. He was like a lost little puppy."

Dean felt anger wash over him. Who did this bitch think she was flinging Sam's pain back in his face? Dean knew he was hurt, he was the cause of that hurt. But it didn't give her the right to do this, to take advantage of his kid brother. He wasn't about to stand there and allow it, not for one minute. "Keep away from him."

Maggie shook her head. "I don't think so, Dean. You see, I found a way to hurt you, to make you pay for what you did to Sophie and so many other countless women—use Sam against you. I've learned he's your whole reason for living. I take that away, your reason's gone."

A cold grip seized Dean's heart. Yes, she knew how to hurt him, knew how to make him suffer. Anyone who spent eight seconds with Dean Winchester knew how to hurt him—go after his kid brother. It was a big fear of Dean's, that he was so obvious when it came to Sam. That anyone who wanted to take a shot at him could do that by going after Sam. Dean tried to look past that and put up a tough façade, but the truth was Sam was his weakness.

Dean snapped out of his momentary paralysis and reached for his flask of holy water. He quickly twisted the top off and flung its contents at Maggie. His brows furrowed when she only wiped it off of her with an annoyed look on her face.

"Did you really think that was going to work on me, Dean? I'm a spirit, not a demon. If anything, you've only managed to piss me off further."

"Do you really think—" Dean didn't get to finish as he found himself flying through the air, colliding with a nearby tomb. The force of the impact knocked the wind from his body and he could feel warm blood trickling down his forehead. He shook his head, trying to clear the wooziness as Maggie appeared in front of him. Dean tried to pull himself up from the dew-soaked ground, but she beat him to the punch as her hand closed around his throat, lifting him against the tomb, his feet dangling off the ground.

"Looks like someone had her Wheaties this morning," Dean said, his voice strained.

Maggie smiled as she planted a kiss on his lips. "Amazing how you can still joke when you're in a losing position, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes as he cringed. "So, are you gonna kill me already or are we just gonna make small talk for the rest of the night?"

Maggie shook her head, a cold glint in her eyes. "I'm not going to kill you, Dean. I wouldn't dream of it—not now, at least. I have something I need for you to do for me first."

"What makes you think I'd do anything for you?"

Maggie chuckled. "I'm afraid you won't have a choice, hunter. I told you I was going to make you hurt and I intend on keeping my word." She tightened her grip on his throat and threw him once again. This time when Dean hit another one of the tombs, he felt blackness creeping in as his head struck the hard surface once again. He tried his best to keep his eyes open, to keep the world in focus, but it was a losing battle. Through blurry vision, he saw Maggie's feet stop within inches of his face. She knelt down and pressed her hand to his cheek. "I think it's time I go check on that brother of yours now, Dean. You know where to find us…"

Dean's world finally became nothing but darkness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam was in a blissful state.

It was the only way he could explain the last few hours. Being with Maggie had done wonders for his psyche, and for the first time since he and Dean got to New Orleans, he felt at ease. It was a feeling he liked, one he wished would never leave. But leave it did as soon as it came when, opening his eyes, he noticed the bed beside him was empty.

"Maggie?" he called softly. Even though it was still the middle of the night, he could see the room clearly as moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains that adorned the only window in the room. But everywhere he looked, he failed to see Maggie. Thinking she may be in the kitchen or living room, Sam quickly slipped out of bed. He grabbed his blue jeans from the top of the trunk in front of the bed and threw them on. Spotting his T-shirt on the floor, he pulled it over his head as he opened the door to the bedroom.

"Maggie?" he called again as he slowly entered the kitchen, but there was no sign of her. A momentary feeling of panic welled up in his chest as he thought to where she could possibly be, especially since there were so many unexplained deaths as of yet, which she had ties to. Could the deaths be murders and was the murderer after Maggie now? Had the killer gotten a hold of her? If she left on her own accord, he was more than sure she would have left a note saying she had to leave, but where she would go in the middle of the night, he had no idea. He walked into the living room, searching for any note, but he found nothing.

Sam's panic was about to get the better of him when he heard the lock on the door being turned. Maggie looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

"Sam, what are you doing up? Are you leaving?"

"No, I was about to go out and look for you. I worried when I woke up and saw you weren't here."

Maggie smiled, but avoided his eyes. "I just needed to get out and go for a walk."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine…I just have a lot of thoughts running around in my head and needed some time to sort them out." She walked behind Sam to set down her keys and purse.

Sam turned around to follow her with his eyes. "Was it us? Do you regret—"

Maggie cut him off as she took his hand in hers. "Not at all, Sam. Tonight meant a lot to me. You don't regret it, do you?"

Sam shook his head and smiled softly. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her softly on the lips. When they broke apart, he looked down at her and frowned in puzzlement.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Why are you wet? Is it raining outside?"

Maggie looked down at her shirt which was covered in several big wet spots. "Oh, this?" She laughed nervously. "I spilled some water on me."

Sam studied her for a moment and thought he saw a flicker of panic in her eyes. "Maggie, what is it? Where were you?"

Maggie sighed as she walked back towards her bedroom. "I told you, Sam. I went out for a walk."

Sam followed her into the room where she was pulling another shirt out of the closet. "Then why do you keep avoiding my eyes? Why are you nervous?"

Maggie pulled off her wet shirt and slipped a dry one on. Sam watched as her shoulders slumped and she let out a long, deep sigh. "You know, you're beginning to become as annoying as your brother."

Sam arched a brow. "Dean? What does he have to do with this?"

Maggie turned around, a smile creeping up on her face. "Do you want to know where I really was, Sam?" She took a step towards him. "I was paying your brother a friendly little visit. We had a nice little chat—about you and other things."

"What are you talking about?" Sam felt as if someone had poured ice cold water over his body. Something wasn't right, something was off and he didn't like it. All of his senses were screaming at him that this was bad, something had happened while Maggie was out. Something that had to do with Dean and that scared him more than he was willing to allow himself to admit. All at once the answer hit him like a ton of bricks—Dean was right. The entire time, Dean had been right about Maggie; something was up with her. And here it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

"Dean was right," he said softly. "You were responsible for everything."

Maggie tilted her head. "I had a little help."

Sam frowned in confusion and Maggie rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Haven't you heard of the legend around here, Sam? Dean figured it out…I thought you were the brains of your cute little duo."

"Marie Laveau."

"Maybe you are the brains, after all. You really should start paying more attention to him, Sam. He only has your best interest at heart."

"So, what was this between you and me? Just some kind of fluke?"

Maggie shook her head. "Not at all—I really did like you, Sam. At least Maggie did—I could feel her attraction to you and I played on it, enjoyed it." She smiled at his crestfallen expression. "Don't look so sad, Sam…you were just a means to an end, a pawn in the game. It never had anything to do with you. What can I say, Sam? A girl has needs…and you just happened to be there to fill them."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he ground out.

"Oh, temper, temper." Maggie began to circle him slowly, but his eyes never left her. "It was always about Dean. I needed to get to your brother and you were the best way to do that. I create tension between the two of you, I get you alone. I get you alone, use you, I hurt him more than any other thing I could cook up can. You know, Sam, your brother is so damn predictable when it comes to you."

It was at those words Sam felt like the biggest ass in the world. What the hell was he thinking not trusting his brother, not listening to him when he was telling the truth? Sam hated himself right then because he never should have lost that trust in Dean, never should have doubted him for even a second. Then another thought occurred to Sam—never for a second would he have doubted Dean on a normal day. That meant something had to have happened in order for him to lose that trust in Dean, something supernatural.

"You did something to me." It wasn't a question.

"I had to use a little persuasion on you. You never would have turned your back on Dean, otherwise. The way you two stick together, it's kind of cute." Maggie shrugged. "I used my influence on you, Sam, and you went right for it. The way you went up to bat for me, blamed Dean for being the cause off all of your problems because of that wish he made."

"The wish? Was it true?"

Maggie shook her head. "I heard the wish that night, but I had nothing to do with him getting back to you. There were more evil players involved with your family. Rule number one among the spirit and demon world: Never interfere with higher-beings work."

"So you used the wish against him, made him think it was real."

"Made you think it was real, too. You know, I expected more of a challenge from you two, especially after all the talk I've heard about you—you made it a little too easy for me."

"Sorry to disappoint," Sam said with a half smile.

"Oh, you weren't a disappointment, Sam. You've played your part very well. You certainly threw Dean off his game."

"What did you do to him?" Sam asked, feeling the panic starting to grow inside him.

"You should have seen him in that cemetery, Sam. So alone…so conflicted." Maggie stepped in front of Sam and put her arms around his neck. "But, don't worry—I took good care of him."

Sam tore her arms away from him. "What did you do?"

"Nothing much…but he won't be moving around any time soon." Maggie's smile became chilling.

Sam's eyes widened at what those words implied, which were any number of things—he could be dead, he could be unconscious, he could be seriously injured. All of those possibilities scared the shit out of Sam and he wanted nothing more than to get away and get to Dean, to make sure he was okay. He had to get to Dean and let him know what an ass he'd been, come up with a million ways he'd make it up to him.

"I can't let you leave, Sam." Maggie stated.

"I don't see where you can really stop me."

Maggie quirked a brow. "Is that a challenge?"

"Take it whatever the hell way you want. I'm getting to my brother." Sam started to walk towards the door, but it slammed shut before he could there. He grabbed the handle and twisted it frantically, but it wouldn't budge.

"I thought I couldn't stop you, Sam."

"You shut the door, I'm impressed," he said sarcastically. "Got any other tricks up your sleeve?" He knew he was egging her on and probably asking for trouble, but he didn't care. He had to get to Dean and if that meant pissing off a voodoo queen for that to happen, then so be it.

"You want to see more tricks?" she asked. "I can do that." She thrust out her hand and Sam felt himself crashing through the door into a heap in the living room. "How was that for a trick?"

Sam sluggishly pulled himself up from the ground. "Is that all you got?"

"You know, you're more like your brother than you realize. He also didn't know when to stop talking." With another wave of her hand, Sam was lifted from the ground and went crashing into the shelves that held Maggie's collectibles. As he hit the ground, he felt the shelves and small porcelain figures raining down on him in pieces. He winced as several large chunks cut through his flesh.

All of a sudden he felt a pressure on his heart, almost as if someone was squeezing it with their hands. He grunted in pain, but the pressure didn't let up and he felt himself start to grow faint as black spots danced in front of his eyes.

"Oh, no, Sammy…we can't have you go to sleep." Maggie was standing over him. "I still need you."

Sam finally felt the pressure release and he sucked in a lungful of air as he tried to reorient himself. Suddenly he felt hands grip his arms and lead him to a chair where he was pushed down roughly. His hands were quickly tied down on either side of the chair and he pulled against them to see if he could get some slack in his bonds, but they remained strong. "What are you doing?" he demanded weakly.

Maggie leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Don't worry, Sammy. Big brother will be here any time now."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks again for the awesome reviews! I love you guys so much!**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter...it's chock full of angst and action!**

**Oh, and here's my language warning...there's language in this chapter**

**Big thanks to Bayre, my awesome wonderful beta!**

**Let me know what you think!!!**

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Dean came to with a start.

Quickly pulling himself to a sitting position, he took a couple of moments to let the queasy feeling in his stomach pass. The pounding in his head beat out a steady rhythm, almost as if a drum solo was taking up residence there. He shook his head, ignoring the sharp spikes of pain as he glanced around the cemetery and remembered where he was. Glancing down at his watch, he saw it was nearly two-thirty in the morning, meaning he'd been unconscious for the last two hours. Confusion began to settle in as he tried to remember why he'd been in the graveyard.

Slowly getting to his feet, he took a few seconds to make sure the ground stayed under him. Darting his eyes all around, he tried to pull the events of the last few hours from his foggy memory when his eyes finally rested on Marie Laveau's tomb—_he and Sam had a fight; Sam ran off; he came here to gather his thoughts; Maggie showed up; said things about Sammy; then, darkness._

_SAM!_

She had mentioned something about Sam, about him coming to see her after their fight, that she was taking care if him. Dean had a pretty good idea of how she took care of Sam, but he would worry about that later. She had said something else, about using Sam against him, using Sam to hurt him. That alone scared Dean to death, because he knew what could happen to Sam in order to achieve that goal. He knew what lengths people and demons and ghosts would go to in order to use Sam against him, they'd shown him before. They knew Dean was at his most vulnerable when it came to Sam and keeping him safe, protecting him.

Before he'd lost consciousness, Maggie said she was going to check on Sam, that Dean would know where to find them. The only place Dean could think of was her apartment—it's where Sam would go if he went to see her earlier. How could he have been so stupid? Why didn't he fight Sam on this harder, make him see what kind of person Maggie was? Instead he'd let him run off to the very woman he was trying to protect his younger brother from. He'd let him run off into the arms of a possessed psycho woman and now Sam was going to end up paying for something Dean had done. Dean couldn't accept that, he had to get to Sam and now.

But then another thought troubled Dean—Maggie said she wasn't going to kill him because she still needed him for something. So, what the hell did that mean? What could Dean possibly do for her and what the hell made her think he would do anything for her? She'd argued he wouldn't have a choice, but he couldn't stand there and wonder what that meant, not when Sammy was at risk.

Locating his shotgun and flashlight a few yards away, he quickly scooped them up and ran to the Impala. He had to get to Sam before it was too late, before Maggie…Dean couldn't even let himself finish that thought. Sam was not dead, not yet anyway. He'd feel something if Sam was gone, something inside of him would let him know if it was too late. That alarm wasn't sounding yet and Dean wasn't going to let it have the chance.

Throwing his gun and flashlight onto the passenger seat, he climbed in the car and sped towards Maggie's apartment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam was getting really tired of being in this position—tied up and at the mercy of a complete psychotic. Why was it he always had to be the damsel in distress, awaiting rescue from his knight in shining armor, riding his noble steed? Except in his case, that knight was Dean and the steed happened to be a 1967 Chevy Impala. Sam chuckled at that, seriously thinking he was starting to lose his mind. And maybe he was—after all, he always managed to get himself into these very uncomfortable predicaments, always putting himself in harm's way. _Maybe Dean should really invest in a collar and leash for me. Hell, even a GPS chip installed in me may be a good idea. We'll definitely have to look into something…_

"You look like you're thinking awfully hard about something, Sam." Maggie was standing by the window, glancing out every so often. Now she had her attention focused on him, a smile on her face.

Sam shrugged as best as he could. "What can I say? When you're tied up, it gives you time to think about things."

Maggie nodded. "Care to share?" She turned her head to look out the window again.

"Honestly, I'm thinking about what a huge jackass I am for allowing myself to sleep with you tonight. I mean, I must have been really desperate, right?"

Maggie walked away from the window and slowly approached Sam. Straddling him, she sat down and softly stroked his face. "You weren't desperate, Sam, you were lonely and I played on that. If it makes you feel any better, you were really good. The best I've had in a really long time."

"Sorry, that doesn't make me feel better. But it was a good effort."

She pushed away the hair from his forehead. "Come on, Sammy…don't be like that. A girl doesn't like to hear her talent's been wasted, makes her feel kind of bad."

"Believe me…you're not like any girl I know."

Maggie smiled. "You got that right, baby." She leaned down and kissed him hard on the lips, then moved down to his neck.

"Didn't you get the memo? This relationship's through."

Maggie pulled back from him and laughed. "You really are cute, Sam. It's a shame you're going to die."

"Then why don't you do it already? I don't see what you're waiting for."

Maggie stood up and walked into her bedroom. When she came back out a few seconds later, she was holding a handkerchief. "I told you, Sammy, we're waiting on your brother. He plays a big part in this and I'd really hate for him to miss out."

"Leave Dean alone."

"You boys are the same, I swear. Always telling me to leave the other alone, trying to protect each other. It's kind of a turn-on, if you ask me." She walked over to the door and flipped off the switch, bathing the apartment in darkness.

Just then the loud rumble of a V-8 engine could be heard approaching in the distance. Maggie walked behind Sam and put the handkerchief in his mouth, trying it behind his head. "Can't have you calling out to big brother, can we?"

Sam struggled anew with his bonds, but they refused to budge. Maggie just shook her head and put a finger to her lips, telling him to keep quiet. "It's show time, Sam."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Dean pulled up to Maggie's apartment, he felt a chill go down his spine. Something was eating at him, telling him something wasn't right, that whatever he was about to walk into was not good. But then again, since when was walking into a completely darkened building a good idea? He'd learned long ago never to expect good things when walking into a dark building especially when said building was the current residence of a psycho voodoo ghost. Yep, this wasn't going to be good at all…

Before getting out of the Impala, Dean grabbed his shotgun he had discarded on the passenger seat. Then, he walked to the trunk and began to pack his small duffel with various weapons—holy water, rock salt, a couple of knives, and other defenses. Satisfied with what he had, he shut the trunk softly and began making his way towards the apartment. He was secretly glad it was the middle of the night; he'd really hate to have to explain to the neighbors what was going on since he knew there was no way they would ever believe him. Who could really blame them, anyway?

Dean quietly made his way up the spiral staircase, being careful not to alert anyone to his presence. He just needed to get in, get Sam, get out, and then get back to the cemetery to salt and burn Marie's bones. He knew he probably should have done the salt and burn before he left the cemetery, but honestly, the thought never crossed his mind. The only thing he could think about was getting to Sam and getting there fast. Sam was what mattered most and after he assured himself his kid brother was safe, then they could worry about Marie and her bitchy ass.

As Dean stepped off the second story landing, he checked the hall to make sure there weren't any stragglers loitering around. Satisfied there wasn't anyone, he knelt down as he pulled his lock picking kit out of his pocket, and began to work on the door. A couple of seconds later, he heard the sweet sound of the release of the lock. Stuffing the pick back into his pocket, he pulled out his .45 and pushed open the door. The sight that greeted him scared him and relieved him all at once.

Sam was tied in a chair, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Sammy!" Dean forgot about the possible threat of Marie as he rushed to his brother's side. Sam grunted through the gag and Dean tore it off. "Are you okay, Sammy?"

"Dean, you were right, it was Maggie the entire time. She's still in here. Don't worry about me—go get her."

"Sam, we need to get you out of here…we can worry about Maggie in a bit."

Sam was about to argue further when they heard a noise coming from the back of the apartment. The brothers exchanged quick glances and Sam nodded, telling Dean it was okay. Dean gave Sam's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and slowly made his way to the noise. He didn't know what the hell he was thinking leaving Sam like that but he knew Sam would be angry if he didn't get rid of the threat first. Sam always put his safety behind everything else and it annoyed the older hunter to no end how his younger brother could be so selfless.

Walking as quietly as he could in his boots, Dean approached the bedroom, where he and Sam heard the noise. Keeping the .45 pointed ahead of him, Dean checked every corner, alert for any noise or movement as his eyes darted all around. Entering the bedroom, he found it was completely dark with only the moonlight illuminating the interior of the small room.

"You kept us waiting long enough, Dean."

Dean whirled around at the sound of Maggie's voice, keeping his aim on her steady. "Well, you did give me a little knock on the head. That kind of takes time to recover."

"I thought you were a little more hard-headed than I gave you credit for." Maggie smiled. "But that's okay…you're just in time for the main event."

"Yeah, and what event is that?"

Maggie shook her head and took a step towards Dean. He tightened his grip on the gun and all of a sudden her body jerked as if she were having convulsions. Dean took an involuntary step backwards, not really sure what was going on. But he kept his eyes on her in case this was another one of her tricks. As he watched, Maggie's eyes widened in fear and her body fell to the ground as Marie's spirit left her. Dean barely had time to track the spirit before she floated in the air and charged at him full speed. The force of the impact knocked him to the ground and he felt cold all over, as if someone dipped him into a liquid nitrogen bath.

_No! No! No! _This couldn't be happening. Dean knew this couldn't lead to anything good. There was an inner battle within his body as he fought to remain in control. He couldn't let Marie take full control of his body, not with Sam waiting out there like a sitting duck. The situation was definitely going from shitty to fucked in a matter of seconds and Dean didn't like it one bit, he didn't like what it could possibly mean for Sam.

_Get out of me, you bitch!_

He heard his own throaty chuckle and then his voice speaking back to him. "Now, now, Dean. No one likes a bully."

_If you don't get out of me, so help me God…_

"You'll what, Dean? Send me to hell? No offense, but there's nothing you can do right now."

_You wanna bet?_

He chuckled again. "Looks like Sammy's in trouble, Dean. But to show you what a gem I am, I'm going to let you watch as I end his life. Imagine what that will do to you—to him—to know his own brother is responsible for his death."

_You keep away from my brother!_

"Do you think he'll forgive you, Dean? As you watch the light go out in his eyes, do you think his last thought will be him forgiving you?"

_Please…just leave him alone. Whatever you're going to do to him, do to me instead. Just leave Sammy out of this, please. Please…_

"That's touching, Dean, it really is. But I'm afraid it's a little too late." He let out a sigh. "Now, I think we've made Sam wait long enough, don't you?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam was beginning to wonder about Dean and what was taking him so long. He'd been hearing the soft sound of voices, but he couldn't make out any of the words and that worried him to no end. He didn't know how long his brother had been gone, but if it was taking this long, it had to mean something happened, Dean found something. As he struggled with the ropes once again, he began to berate himself for allowing Dean to go back there alone. Why didn't he let Dean cut him free and they go back there to investigate together? Hell, why didn't he listen to Dean when he suggested they just get out of there and worry about Maggie in a little bit. It just went to show the young hunter once again he was incapable of listening to what his brother was trying to tell him, how he was trying to keep him safe.

He grunted in frustration as the ropes began to rub his wrists raw. He wasn't getting anywhere with them. If anything, they seemed to be getting tighter. He was about to yell for his brother when he heard the heavy footsteps of Dean walking behind him.

"Dean! Dude, what the hell was taking so long?"

"I ran into a little problem."

"What? What kind of problem?" Sam watched as Dean walked to his duffel bag and pulled out a knife, gazing at it lovingly. _Okay, Dean…you've seen that knife a thousand times. Quit looking at it like that and get over here and cut me free._

Dean turned around, fingering the knife blade. "I found Maggie, but don't worry, Sammy…I took care of her."

"Good! Great! Let's get out of here then."

Dean shook his head and Sam felt a chill race down his spine. Something wasn't right with Dean, his behavior was off. Realization hit the young hunter as a slow feral smile crept up on Dean's face. "We're not going anywhere, Sammy. I think it's time you and I had a nice little chat."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean felt sick to his stomach as he felt his body slowly walking out of the bedroom. There was nothing he could do to stop himself, nothing he could do to warn his brother of the approaching danger. Marie had managed to maintain control of every part of his body and the only thing Dean could do was watch. It was as if he were strapped to a table and being forced to watch the most horrible movie possible. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to fight. Dean was going to give her hell, he wasn't going to let her have Sam without a fight.

He could see Sam struggling with the ropes once more as he slowly approached his brother from behind. He saw Sam turn around, relief evident on his face.

_Don't be relieved yet, Sammy. Come on, look at me…see this isn't really me._

"Dean! Dude, what the hell was taking so long?"

Dean cringed as he heard Marie say, "I ran into a little problem."

"What? What kind of problem?"

_Come on, Sam. Quit asking questions. Find a way out and get out of here…NOW! _He felt his breath hitch as his hands reached into the duffel bag and pull out one of the long hunting knives. He didn't like how he felt as his eyes looked at it ravenously. He could feel what Maggie was thinking and none of it was good…she wanted Sam to hurt, she wanted Dean to hurt. She wanted Sam's blood on his hands.

Dean turned around, fingering the knife blade. "I found Maggie, but don't worry, Sammy…I took care of her."

_She's lying on the floor in the bedroom, Sam. Maggie isn't the threat anymore…I am._

"Good! Great! Let's get out of here, then."

Dean shook his head as a slow feral smile crept up on his face. "We're not going anywhere, Sammy. I think it's time you and I had a nice little chat."

The older hunter cheered as he saw the realization hit Sam. Sam knew something was wrong, he knew this wasn't really Dean. _Great job, Sammy! You see that, bitch? He's not going to fall for any of your cheap tricks._

"Where's Dean?"

"What are you talking about, Sammy? You're looking at him."

Sam shook his head. "No…you're not my brother. What did you do to him?"

The smile became wider on Dean's face. "Your brother was right when he said you wouldn't fall for this, Sam. I guess I should have believed him."

"So, was this your big plan? To possess Dean?"

"Honestly, no, but things just worked out in my favor." Dean walked a slow circle around Sam and picked up the handkerchief from the floor. He shoved it in Sam's mouth and tied it tightly. "Can't have you waking the neighbors, can we?" He patted Sam on the shoulder and continued. "You see, Sam. I don't want to kill your brother, I want him to hurt. I want him to feel a pain so deeply in his heart, he can't breathe. And what better way than this, Sam? What better way than to have Dean kill his baby brother?"

Sam grunted in response and Dean held up a hand to his ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Are you saying there's no way Dean would do that?"

Sam glared at him.

"You're right, he wouldn't. But that's why he has me, Sam. I'm the little push he needs." He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. Popping the top off the held it in a salute to Sam. "He's tired of it, Sam. The constant worry over you, the stress you add to his life. He wants it all to be over. And I can help him, Sam. I can release him from that burden."

Sam shook his head and struggled in his chair once again.

_That's right, Sammy! Don't listen to a damn thing this bitch is telling you. None of it is true, you hear me? None of it!_

Dean chuckled. "Your brother doesn't seem to agree with me, Sam. He's putting up quite a fight for you." He took another swig of the beer and set the bottle down as he once again fingered the blade. "Believe me when I say this has nothing to do with you, Sam. You just happen to be the innocent bystander. Isn't it ironic how you always seem to pay for your brother's mistakes?"

_Please don't do this…the kid feels guilty enough without you adding on to it. Just stop…leave him alone. Let Sammy go._

"If you could hear what he was saying to me, Sammy, it would bring a tear to your eye. He's fighting, but I think he knows it's a losing battle." Dean tilted his head to the side, studying Sam. Then he leaned down and pressed the knife to his throat. Inwardly, Dean felt as if someone stabbed him in the gut as he saw the pain in his baby brother's eyes, saw the complete terror in those hazel eyes as though he wasn't sure if Dean would be able to stop Marie from killing him.

_Sammy, don't give up on me. I'm going to help you. I'm not going to let her kill you. I'm going to stop her._

"You know, Sam, not all ghosts are completely heartless. And to show you what a saint I am, I'm going to let you speak to your brother one more time." He removed the gag from Sam's mouth.

"Dean, you have to fight her, you hear me! You have to fight this! Don't let her win! Don't let some crazy ass bitch get the better of you! You're better than that, Dean."

"Sam…"

"Good, Dean! Fight her! You keep fighting her!"

Dean struggled with the spirit inside of him as he fought to bring the knife away from his brother's throat. He wasn't about to let this bitch take away everything that meant the world to him. He wasn't about to let her take away his only reason for living. He finally managed to get the knife away from Sam's throat, but in the next instant he found himself plunging the knife into Sam's thigh. Sam roared with pain and Dean immediately felt control over Marie start to wane. Before it could diminish completely, he pulled the knife from his brother's leg and used it to cut the ropes around Sam's wrists.

"You take care of her, Sammy."

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Sam barely felt the pain in his leg. Sure the immediate pain had been horrific, as if someone had stabbed a white hot poker into his leg, but now he didn't feel anything. All he could feel was the pain from Dean as his brother struggled with the spirit inside if him. He could see Dean's hold weakening and that scared the young hunter to death, to know his brother was being defeated. Dean was never supposed to be the one to lose, he always come out the victor at the end. But now, even Sam was seeing that Dean may not win this one this time.

As soon as Dean cut the ropes, Sam bent down and untied his ankles. He got up from the chair just as his brother—Marie—was charging at him with the knife. He quickly sidestepped the blade as it came arching down, the wound in his leg hindering him slightly. He stumbled but was up again before Dean could come at him again. He took Dean's knife hand and squeezing with all his might, made the older man drop the knife to the ground.

Sam dove for the knife, but Dean came up behind him and grabbed him in a chokehold. Sam reached up and grabbed his brother's arm, trying to pull it away, but Dean wasn't going to budge. Seeing no other option, Sam stomped down on his foot and heard his brother grunt in pain. Sam stepped back and landed a solid punch against his brother's jaw. Dean barely flinched and before Sam could stop him, he brought his leg up and kicked Sam's stab wound. Sam went down to the ground bring down a small end table with him, crying out in pain and Dean seized his chance. He tackled Sam to the ground and began to choke him.

Sam grabbed at Dean's hands, trying to tear his brother's grip from his throat, but Dean wasn't letting up. For a brief instant, Sam felt a flicker of panic as he saw the crazed look in his brother's eyes. _Dean's really going to do it…he can't fight it…he's going to kill me._ Sam turned his head slightly, spying a heavy glass bowl from the fallen end table, reached for it. It was just shy of his fingertips and just as blackness began to cloud his vision, he made one last ditch effort and grabbed the bowl.

It couldn't be any bigger than the size of a grapefruit, but it was heavy and it would do the job. Sam brought the bowl crashing down on his brother's head. At first he though it had no effect on his sibling's hard head, but through his cloudy vision he saw Dean's eyes roll to the back of his head and the hands around his throat loosened. Sam didn't even have time to get out of the way as Dean's limp body came crashing down on him.

Sam just lay there for a moment, too sore and tired to move. But he knew he needed to get up and move fast—he had to get Marie out of Dean and he wasn't sure how much time he would have before Dean woke up again. Carefully pushing Dean off of him, he pulled himself up from the floor, being careful to keep his weight off his injured left leg. He wasn't sure how bad the stab wound was and he wasn't about to stop and check it out. It could wait for a little longer, at least until he fixed this fine mess they'd gotten themselves into.

He bent down and reaching into Dean's jacket pocket, he grabbed the keys to the Impala. He scooped up the duffel bag from the floor and quickly made his way out to his brother's car. Within a matter of seconds, he was speeding towards the St. Louis Cemetery. He silently thanked whoever was watching over him that there weren't any police patrolling the streets. He'd really hate to have to explain to the officer the reason he was speeding was that he needed to get to the cemetery in order to salt and burn the bones of a woman who was currently possessing his brother. Sam was pretty sure they would accuse him of being drunk and throw him in jail faster than he could blink an eye.

Sam got to the cemetery within ten minutes. He jumped out of the car, grabbing the duffel and went to the trunk to make sure he had everything he would need for the salt and burn. He saw Dean already packed the shotgun, so he grabbed a few more rock salt shells and stuffed them in the duffel. Then he quickly grabbed the container of rock salt, matches, and lighter fluid. Before he shut the trunk he noticed a map of the cemetery sitting on top of the weapons and thanked his lucky stars. He had no idea where to even begin to look for Marie's tomb so the map was a complete blessing. Sam made a mental note to worship his guardian angel as soon as this was over.

Turning on his flashlight, he found the path he wanted on the map and began his trek to the tomb. A little over five minutes later, he found Marie's tomb and set down his duffel bag. Shining the light around the door to the tomb, he found it to be padlocked, but it was nothing a pair of bolt cutters couldn't take care of. Opening the duffel, he grabbed the bolt cutters and made quick work of the lock. He then entered the old tomb.

Sam coughed as the musty smell of decayed flesh assaulted his nostrils, but he quickly got over it. He spotted the body of Marie Laveau lying in the middle on a slab of granite. Seeing he wasn't going to have much room to work, Sam made the decision to bring her body out into the open. Luckily, it still remained intact even after over a hundred years of being interred, and he was able to bring it out with relative ease.

He dug into the duffel and pulled out his necessary supplies. He generously sprinkled rock salt all over the bones, then moved on to the lighter fluid. Just as he was finishing with the accelerant, he felt a chill go down his spine as the air around him grew colder. Quickly pulling out the shotgun from the duffel bag, he whirled around to face the form of his brother, who was smiling at him wickedly, blood covering the left side of his face.

"You didn't really think I was just going to let you get away, did you, Sammy?"

Sam cocked the shotgun in warning, but Dean only smiled. "Are you really going to shoot your own brother?"

"Dean will understand." Sam swallowed hard.

"You mean like he understood the time you shot him before?" Dean jerked his head and Sam and the gun went flying through the air, each landing in different places.

Sam looked up and shook his head to clear it as Dean slowly approached him. He saw the shotgun was lying a few feet behind him—if he could just get to it, he could distract Dean long enough to do the salt and burn.

"I'm not going to let you two ruin what I've started here," Dean said.

"You mean killing innocent people?" Sam slowly scooted back towards the gun.

"They weren't innocent, Sam. Just like your brother isn't innocent. They had to be punished for what they were doing." Dean shook his head. "I'm the good guy here, Sam…can't you see that? I'm only trying to make my city what it once was, where people don't have to worry about the wicked and corrupt. They can live their lives and not worry about being hurt."

"You're not helping anyone, you're only making the situation worse."

"Says you." Dean stopped walking and pulled out the knife. He then turned his gaze to Sam and for a second, Sam swore he saw sorrow and grief in his brother's eyes. "I don't want to have to kill you, Sam, but your brother needs to learn what's right and wrong. He has to be taught his lesson and this is the only way."

Sam watched with wide eyes as Dean brought the knife up above his head. Sam made a frantic grab for the gun and brought it up to aim at his brother's chest. Just as Dean was bringing the blade down on him, Sam squeezed the trigger and fired off a shot. It hit Dean square in the chest and he fell back to the ground, unmoving. Sam rose to his feet, and after making sure his brother was okay, kicked the blade away from Dean's outstretched hand, then ran to Marie's bones to finish the salt and burn. He lit a few matches and threw them onto the bones.

There was a tremendous impact as the fire hit the bones and Sam was thrown back a few feet. He landed hard on his back, but managed to stay conscious as he watched the flames burn a bright blue. A loud scream pierced the night air and he looked over at his Dean's still form to see Marie's spirit being pulled from his brother. There was another spectacular burst of blue light and then Marie disappeared completely.

Sam wanted to get up and check on Dean, but he was finding it hard to stay awake. Sam's vision became blurry and he didn't know if that was from the abuse his body had taken or the blood loss from his leg, but at that point he didn't care. He turned on his stomach and tried to crawl to his brother, but he barely made it half a foot before darkness overcame him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Well, here's the final chapter of my second fic. Thanks again for all of the reviews and taking the time to read this, guys...it means the world to me!**

**A huge thanks goes out to Bayre, my awesome beta!**

**Enjoy!**

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When Sam's eyes slowly fluttered open, he saw the rays of the early morning sun peeking over the horizon. Looking around, he saw he was still in the cemetery, lying on his back. He carefully lifted himself up on his elbows and took a look around at the cemetery around him. Behind him was nothing more than a pile of ashes that had once been Marie Laveau. To the right of that, he saw the door to her tomb was still standing wide open and his duffel bag was sitting in front of it. Turning his head to look before him, he saw Dean was lying on the ground just as he had been before Sam lost consciousness.

Pushing himself slowly to his feet, Sam made his way to his fallen brother. Dean was lying on his back, one arm draped over his stomach, while his other lay outstretched above his head. Sam leaned down and felt for a pulse, letting out a huge sigh of relief when he felt it beating steady.

"Dean?" Sam softly shook his brother and jumped back in surprise when Dean bolted upright, nearly punching him in the face.

"Dude, tell me that bitch is out of me!"

Sam chuckled softly and nodded. "Yeah, Dean…she's gone."

"Thank God." Dean's eyes darted around the cemetery and finally landed back on Sam, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Sam laughed. Even after being possessed and shot with rock salt, Dean still managed to put his brother's well-being before his. It amazed the young hunter and annoyed him at the same time—he was glad to have that concern from his brother, but he wanted Dean to take the time to worry about himself as well. But he knew that would never happen—not as long as Dean was still breathing. Sam would always come first and it was something he just had to accept.

Sam patted his brother on the arm. "Yeah, Dean…I'm fine."

"You're a liar," Dean grumbled as he pulled himself up from the ground. Sam quickly offered assistance as he saw the older man wince and hold his chest in pain, but Dean brushed him off. "I got it, Sam." He leaned against one of the headstones to catch his breath.

"Dean, you were just shot."

"And you were just stabbed, so we're both in the same boat here."

"It's a sinking boat, then." Sam glanced at Dean and grinned.

Dean returned the grin then waved his hand towards the tomb. "We better get this cleaned up before the sun completely rises and the tourists come out to play."

Sam shook his head ruefully. "How anyone can pay money to take a tour of this place amazes me."

"You and me both, little brother. Personally, I couldn't give a crap if we never come here again." He pushed himself off the headstone and walked over to the tomb where he began to pick up their weapons and supplies, Sam following his lead.

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It was a good hour before the brothers got back to their motel room. Sam was first to take the shower and Dean let him have it. The kid deserved it after the night he'd gone through and it was the least Dean could do. Sam emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later and Dean had him sit on the bed so he could bandage Sam's stab wound. It didn't appear to be that deep and only required a few stitches. Dean made quick work of it, silently cheering his brother on as Sam pressed through the pain of the needle going into his tender flesh. After he was finished stitching it up, he applied some antibiotic ointment, then covered it with a gauze pad. Dean then handed Sam a couple of ibuprofen and cleaned up his mess. After making sure his brother was settled, he quickly darted into the shower.

He stood under the hot water, allowing it to soothe his aching muscles, but it was doing nothing to calm the ache in his chest. He'd almost killed his brother a couple hours ago and it was something the water couldn't wash away. How did you get over that? How did you get over the fact you just tried to kill the one person you vowed to protect and keep safe above everything else? While Dean knew it wasn't exactly him going after his brother, he couldn't stop the guilt that was threatening to choke the life out of him.

Sam was everything to him, the only reason he got up day after day to continue the fight their father started. If he didn't have Sam he was pretty sure he wouldn't be doing this—he wouldn't have a reason to. Sam was that burst of inspiration he needed to get through the day and if he lost that, he lost everything that ever meant anything to him. While losing John had put a hole in his tough exterior, losing Sam would have made that exterior crumble. Dean couldn't accept that, couldn't accept his brother being taken from him especially by his own hands.

He hated that Marie had been right about Sam. He hated she'd been able to see through walls he'd built up for years and have them crumble in a blink of an eye. He didn't like the fact she'd been able to use Sam against him and treat his brother like he was nothing more than a pawn in a game. He hated seeing that look of terror on his baby brother's face as he held the knife to the tender flesh of Sam's throat, knowing he caused that terror. It wasn't supposed to be like that, Sam wasn't supposed to be scared of him. Dean was supposed to protect him from that terror, protect him from everything the world threw at him and he felt as if he'd failed miserably.

Dean began to wonder about how his brother would look at him now. While Sam had been smiling at him at the cemetery and seemed to be okay, was he really? Was he wondering if he could trust his brother anymore? Would he hold out fear for Dean or would he get past it? Would he worry if his brother would come after him again? Could Sam truly look at his brother and find comfort with him or would he feel like he couldn't trust him any longer?

The older hunter couldn't accept that, couldn't accept his brother may be scared of him now.

Dean stepped from the shower, knowing what he and Sam needed to do. They needed to talk this out which went against everything Dean was. He didn't like to talk, but he had to know if Sam would be okay around him. He needed his brother to know he didn't need to fear him, that he could trust him.

Stepping out of the bathroom, the towel wrapped around his waist, Dean saw Sam reclining against the headboard, his eyes closed. He let a small smile play on his lips as he watched his brother sleep. Sleep came hard for the young hunter and when Sam could find it, Dean wasn't going to spoil it for him. He quickly walked over to his duffel and pulled out a pair of sweat pants. As he slipped them on, he heard Sam shuffle around on the bed.

"How's the chest?"

Dean shrugged. "It's okay." He wasn't lying. He could still feel where the rock salt hit him—it was in the exact same spot Sam had shot him back at the Roosevelt Asylum. But it was nothing more than a dull throbbing pain now; he'd suffered much worse and he wasn't going to dwell on it.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly.

Dean shook his head. "Don't, Sammy." He wasn't about to stand there and let Sam feel guilty about shooting him. He knew Sam had to do it, it was the only way for him to save himself and do to salt and burn.

"It seems to be a recurring pattern for me."

"Dammit, Sam…you had to do it. If you didn't, I would have killed you."

"It wasn't you, Dean."

Dean nodded. "Maybe not, but I can still feel that knife in my hand, Sam. I can still see the look of terror on your face when I held it to your throat and that scares me, man. It scares me that I allowed myself to be that vulnerable, to allow her to take control of me like that."

"Dean, you have nothing to feel guilty about."

"Really?" Dean walked over to the dresser and leaned his hands against it, not looking at Sam. "Sam, I know you were afraid. Even though she was controlling me, I could still feel everything, see everything. For a brief instant, I saw the flicker in your eyes—you thought I was going to kill you. And Sam, I gotta be honest with you…I thought I was going to kill you, too. I couldn't stop it and that terrified me."

"But you didn't, Dean, and that's what matters." Sam continued as Dean turned his eyes to him. "You were able to stop her from slitting my throat. I saw how much you were fighting against her, Dean. I could see that in your eyes, the fight."

"But I still stabbed you, Sammy."

"Like I said, it could have been much worse." Sam let out a long, tired sigh. "And if anyone should be apologizing, it should be me."

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"The fight we had…about the wish."

Dean walked over to his bed and sat down. "We're not about to have a Kleenex moment here, are we?"

"Dean, I'm serious. That fight—it was stupid. I never should have blamed you for that wish, especially when it wasn't true."

"What are you talking about?"

"Maggie—Marie—whatever the hell her name was—she told me she never granted you that wish. She just used it against you to get you and me apart. She needed to create tension between us, so she took your wish and twisted it to her advantage. And I was stupid enough to believe it."

"So, you didn't mean anything you said?"

Sam looked shocked. "No, of course not." Dean fixed him with a look and Sam shrugged. "Dean, I was never angry at you for the wish. I was pissed at you because of the way you keep suffocating me. I mean, I can't even step foot out a door without you having to know where I'm going."

"You know why I'm like that, Sam."

"Yeah, Dean, I know—you're trying to protect me. I know I scared you when I went missing for that week Meg was possessing me, but you've got to let up on me a little. You need to realize when I need some time and you need to trust me to make some decisions on my own."

Dean knew Sam was right—he knew he was being overprotective, but in his mind, he had good reasons. He had to make sure Sam stayed safe, at all costs. He didn't know what he would do if something ever happened to Sam and he didn't want to find out. He also knew his brother needed a little space and he was willing to give it to him, albeit reluctantly. He wanted Sam to have a little freedom, he really did…but at what cost?

"Dean, I appreciate everything you do for me, I really do."

Dean nodded and averted his eyes to the floor.

"Look, I know I haven't told you this, but I really am glad you got me from Stanford. I mean, this past year of my life has been crazy. I can't imagine how it would have been if I didn't have you right there beside me. You've managed to pull me away from some pretty dark times…times I know I wouldn't have been able to face alone. But the fact I have you in my life right now, to help me, it means more to me than anything else in the world. And I just wanna say…thank you."

Dean let a small smile play on his lips, but he didn't look up at Sam. What his brother just said to him made him feel everything had been worth it. The past year, the tragedies, everything had been worth it. Sam was telling Dean something he'd always wanted to hear—he was wanted and appreciated. Dean thought for so long no one appreciated what he did and here was the one person, whose approval he sought more than anyone's in the world, telling him he was grateful for him.

"Are you still with me, Dean?" Sam asked, uncertainty in his voice.

Dean smiled and nodded, looking up at his brother. "Yeah, Sam…I'm always here with you."

An awkward silence fell between the brothers, neither sure what to say. Dean couldn't believe he just said something like that—was that ripped out of a cheesy chick flick, or what? But he meant what he said to his kid brother—he would always be here for him, no matter what. Even if Sam thought there was no one in the world he could turn to, Dean would be here for him, to help him along the way.

"Dude…that was such a girly ass thing to say." Sam was laughing.

"Must be all those Lifetime movies you watch rubbing off on me," Dean shot back, which promptly shut his kid brother up.

"Bite me," Sam said sourly and then added, "Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean laughed and watched as Sam sat back against his headboard, armed crossed over his chest like a petulant child. It amazed the older hunter how Sam—his 6'4" kid brother—could act like and resemble a five year old as soon as he didn't get his way. But then the sandy haired brother grew serious. "Have you heard anything about Maggie?" As they finished up cleaning their mess at the cemetery, Sam had called 911 to get some help sent over for Maggie.

Sam nodded. "I called the hospital and the nurse said she was in fair condition. She had a slight concussion and they wanted to keep an eye on her today. After that, I'm sure the police are going to pick her up and they'll have a nice little chat."

"I really am sorry it didn't turn out better for you, Sammy."

"Yeah…I am too."

"So…I was thinking maybe we'd spend another night here and hit the road tomorrow. I think we could both use the rest and a small break."

Sam nodded and silence once again took over the small room, each brother lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Sam broke the silence as he started to chuckle.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" Dean demanded.

Sam turned his impish smile on his brother. "Dude, how did it feel to have a girl inside of you?"

"That's a little dirty, Sammy. And if I'm not mistaken, _you_ were inside of _her_."

Sam's face turned a bright shade of scarlet and Dean burst into laughter. "Fine…how did it feel to be possessed by a girl?"

"You tell me," Dean shot back. "You were possessed by one first."

"You are such an ass, Dean."

"Yeah…I love you too, little brother."

END

**Thanks again and for those who are wondering...I will be doing another fic and it is in its mapping stage right now. I won't start posting on it until the end of June or beginning of July.**

**So until then...happy hunting!**


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